










'' ■ ^ rf(\ /}l '^’n \>S‘ “■ 

LiK - A / z A 

o ^ 


<» 


ti -. ■<% ■J>^ c' 

’> ^ i, 


w 
•>> 

.0 N 0 ^ ^ 0 ^ 

O^ ^ 0 

■^ { 3 . '->1 ^ 

' ' - ^ % 

® Wg 

. ■ t. 


\V 

A -/>, 

V 


O 


✓ 



i *'^ ''* -i ^ ' , 

A ^ 


‘""^ \/yj^ ^%^'''/\ • ' ' * * 

<. • ^0 
C 1 » 



.A At- '“^ ® V x> 

A’ ^ 0 A ^ 

A S ^ / '^- J N s. 



^ ^'P 

r^ - A V . = 

^0°., 


.-< 




^o A’^ 


-.V 


♦ A A '. 


\ ^ U. ' * »<> -<1 

' A 'O '• '*' \' "'^ 

A" , <■ '■ ‘ ® j.A . 0 N c, 

A i^/ry^ . ■>' A ^ 

O- VA r- 


i- A> ■<?' 


■ -v' 



% % A 0^"'' ' " 

u ^ 'C ■ 

-cp. A 

S-.,. -> ^ A> \> 

- A' .WA \ A 

. .^v^- - 5^/ 

^ ',0 . , ., <* . / 0 » A 

.\ L^ N f. ^ 

/ 



' A A *,!<S' 



0 „ X '*' A 



'O I c ^ 




^0 



r\ V n 


t- 'S 


A ^ 0 , A 

-# A 

•>^ A 

A ^ ' A 
A = ?.° “-<■ 

' VW Ovi^ '^^ -\ ^ _ 

«'C^- \ C^ ^ r\^ ^•- Z' ' 

A. 

' ^ A \ A' 


'^A-^ = A " . 

-. A 'A o '^■ 

A ^ ^ A 

"' ..s' ^, , . ,. <-^. '». 




0-' s • A • .A ' ’ ' A""' .‘A: 0'' . 





A' 

' '-^A V^ *1 

O ^0 

, ' >2>* ' 5^ 

rj^ y « Q O -•' X u.' ^ 

. s . . , , A ‘ - » A x>"!s ' A 



0 N 0 


'.A% 


arA - <A ' fv A /, - '=^ M 

A - A ^ '\' 

A * .\V ., ^ ® \'f 


x* 


-;x .b V,*' 

A' <.. 

*/ . O. . 0 ' s'" . ^ <f 


\ A “ v\^‘ '-^r^ 

A ^ ,\V 

4 C^ -i 

fy '^^K: ''°'''' 

^ *"*.,s»'V\.,.A, *s.» 













WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 







His will, when it is read, will surprise ns.” 

{P(((ic W.) 





WEIGHED IN 
THE BALANCE 


BY 


CHRISTIAN REID 

Author of Armine,” “ Carmela,” “A Woman of 
Fortune,” “The Land of the Sun,” etc. 




BOSTON 

MARLIER, CALLANAN, & COMPANY 

1900 

L- 



> A 


3169 


Ik‘^ 


TWO COPIES f,ECEIveo. 

Library of Congrett 
Office 0 f the 

JUN 8-1900 


Regitter of Copyrights, 

^ 7 , / 2 . 


Second copy. 



By Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C. 
Copyright, 1900 

By Marlier, Callanan, & Co. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK I 

Page 

Expectant Heirs i 

BOOK II 

Dwellers in Bohemia 55 

BOOK III 

The Wings of Eros 128 

BOOK IV 

The Awakening of Psyche 336 

BOOK V 

The Balance is Held 447 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“His will, when it is read, will surprise us” Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“ Suddenly courage came to Norbert ” . . . . 8o 
“ It pleased her that her father’s genius 

SHOULD be recognized” i88 

“The quiet, restrained, tones ceased, but Irma 

DID NOT answer” 234 

“That a man should sell his honor and his 


conscience 


438 


Weighed in the Balance 


BOOK I 

EXPECTANT HEIRS 

I 

Ol O you think, doctor, that there is no hope of 
his recovery?” said Gerard Hastings, medi- 
tatively. 

The words were a statement rather than a question, 
but it was as a question that Dr. Warner answered 
them : 

“ Of his recovery, certainly not. He can never 
again be even partially a well man ; but he has such 
wonderful vitality that he may pass through the 
present crisis and rally once more — or he may not. 
Frankly, the chances are against him.” 

“And if he should rally, the change will take 
place — ? ” 

“Within twelve hours. I will return at eight 
o’clock, and bring Dr. Lacy with me. Until that 
time the nurse has my directions, and no change of 
any kind is likely to occur.” 

“ There is no immediate danger of death ? ” 

“ None, I think,” the doctor answered, drawing on 
his gloves and preparing to descend the steps of 
the portico on which the two men were standing. 

I I 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


‘"Nevertheless,” he added, turning around, “if Mr. 
Darracote has any friends whom he might wish to 
see, it would be well to let them know that his con- 
dition is critical.” 

“ Is Mr. Darracote himself aware of his condition ? ” 
Hastings asked. 

“ I have not informed him of it,” replied the doctor, 
who agreed with many of his profession in thinking it 
no part of a physician’s duty to tell his patients un- 
pleasant truths, especially the most unpleasant truth 
of all. 

Then he entered his carriage, and taking a note- 
book from his pocket, was deep in its contents before 
his servant, who drove at a sharp pace, had reached the 
broad iron gates which opened on the road beyond. 

Not a street. The city in its rapid strides had not 
yet reached thus far, though its tumultuous life was 
near at hand. But its most fashionable thoroughfare 
stretched into an avenue which for miles was lined 
on either side with beautiful country-houses. Not 
many of these were visible from the road. The 
stranger who was whirled along behind a pair of fast 
horses, saw little beside one green park after another, 
full of bosky depths of shade. 

“ There is the Heron place,” some good-natured 
cicerone would say. “ Charming grounds, don’t you 
think so? That lovely little cottage of which you 
catch a glimpse half hidden in trees is a purely 
bachelor den ; belongs to Mr. Hastings, — and is 
in exquisite taste within and without. And here is 
Argyle, the Darracote place. I wish you could see 
the house. It used to be shown to visitors, but that 
was while the owner was away. Now that he is at 


2 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

home no one is admitted. He is said to be in 
wretched health — likely to die very soon, and no- 
body knows to whom his property will go.” 

At the entrance of this house Gerard Hastings still 
stood after the doctor’s carriage had passed from sight. 

He was a man of thirty-two or three, with an air 
of unusual distinction, and the ease of manner and 
bearing which comes from the consciousness of 
assured social position and long familiarity with the 
best social life. His well-knit figure was at once 
muscular and graceful, the contours of his face were 
all finely cut, the chin strong and firm, the mouth 
slightly sarcastic, and the whole countenance lighted 
by a pair of cool, handsome gray eyes. 

He remained motionless so long, apparently 
rapt in thought, that a lady who had been for 
some time watching him from one of the windows 
at last came out to his side. She was a woman 
whose years were little less than his own, but who 
bore them so well that she looked much younger. 
A fair complexion — purest milk and roses once, and 
still remarkably lovely, considering how soon such 
roses fade; fair hair in great abundance; eyes neither 
green nor yellow nor brown, but a mingling of all 
these tints; delicate features, and a figure full, yet 
not lacking grace, made up a whole so attractive that 
few people thought of disputing Mrs. Treherne’s 
beauty. Certainly no one had disputed it when she 
burst upon society in the first freshness of her youth. 
Women had envied, and men raved over her; she 
was a reigning belle, a star of the first magnitude. 

And at that time the man who stood before her 
now had fluttered around her as one of her admir- 
3 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


ers, — the one whom for many reasons she liked 
best of all, for Hastings had even then the reputa- 
tion of being exceptionally attractive to women. 
But although flattered and spoiled, he declined to 
exchange his golden liberty for the bondage of 
matrimony. Heiresses did not tempt him, beauties 
attracted him, but he possessed the usual accompa- 
niment of a susceptible fancy — a fickle disposition ; 
so the brightest eyes shone in vain for him. He 
fluttered round Eleanor Lucas for a time, won as 
much of a heart as she had to give, then calmly 
said good-bye one day and sailed for Europe. 

Even women of the world suffer heartaches now 
and then, but they know how to hide, them. No 
shade of dimness came over Miss Lucas’ beauty, and 
in less than two weeks she was engaged to Ogden 
Treherne, the most eligible of her suitors. He was 
young, madly in love with her; and though his own 
fortune was not great, he was heir to the large estate 
of a childless uncle. Under these circumstances, 
every one agreed that the match was a good one; 
and the marriage took place in due time, with the 
approval of all concerned 

According to the nature of things, happiness 
should have followed; and perhaps with Treherne it 
did follow, for a short time. But before very long 
it became clearly evident to him that if his beautiful 
wife possessed a heart at all, that heart was not his. 
Following this knowledge came fierce jealousy of the 
men who still thronged around her; for adulation 
and flattery were necessary to her as food and air. 
She resented in no measured manner interference 
with her favorite amusement, and so matters went 
4 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


from bad to worse. There was a strain of dissi- 
pated lawlessness in the Treherne blood which was 
always ready to come to the surface, and it broke 
forth violently with Ogden. People began to pity 
his wife, others condemned her; stories of terrible 
' quarrels were told, — affairs came to a crisis when 
she refused absolutely to live any longer with her 
husband. 

Treherne, on his part, made no effort to induce 
her to do so. “We have probably each had enough of 
the other,” he said grimly. “ Well, I ’ll try to make 
her a widow as soon as possible, since a married 
flirt has not a very enviable position in the world.” 

The miserable, reckless young fellow kept his 
word better, perhaps, than he intended. He died 
soon from the effects of excessive dissipation ; and, 
as if to add to the enormity of this conduct, his 
death took place six months before that of his uncle; 
so the estate passed to other heirs, and his wife’s 
prospects ended in one of those slender provisions 
which people describe as “a small competence,” but 
which was not at all competent to fill her wants. 

Fortunately, the aunt who brought her out in 
society (she was early left an orphan) had been the 
wife of Mr. Darracote, a man of great wealth. Mrs. 
Darracote died soon after the marriage which re- 
sulted so disastrously, but her husband was deeply 
attached to her, and when Mrs. Treherne asked his 
protection, he could not refuse it, though approving 
of her course and of herself as little as possible. 

“ I will give you a home as long as you need it, 
for the sake of your aunt,” he said; “but ydu need 
expect no more from me. ” 


5 


W.EIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Understanding that he was a man who meant 
exactly what he said, it is probable that Mrs. Tre- 
herne did not expect any more — for some time. A 
stately, luxurious home like Argyle was a very 
pleasant abiding-place to a young and beautiful 
widow with the world before her; but presently 
other hopes crept in. Why should not Argyle be 
hers when its present owner, already ill with a hope- 
less disease, had been gathered to his fathers.? 
Where would Mr. Darracote, a childless man with 
no near relations, find a better heir than herself.? 
Her heart beat high with desire and hope as she 
asked these questions. She could not play minis- 
tering angel to Mr. Darracote; for, being of some- 
what irritable temper as well as of eccentric 
disposition, he would tolerate near him only ser- 
vants trained to the observance of his “ways;” but 
she was mistress of his house, and he could not fail 
to see that she adorned the position as if born for 
it. Others beside himself thought of these things, 
and her chances began to be reckoned high by 
the outside world, when — Gerard Hastings came 
home. 

A simple fact, this, to all appearances, but one 
that changed the current of speculation greatly. 
Hastings, besides being the son of Mr. Darracote’s 
oldest friend, was himself a special favorite with 
that gentleman, and had been his ward. After 
years of foreign life and travel, he returned, even 
more handsome, more accomplished, and more fas- 
cinating than when he went abroad. It was shrewdly 
suspected that he had spent nearly the whole of his 
patrimony; but what of that.? With or without a 
6 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

fortune, he was a social magnate of the first rank; 
and if the Darracote estate should pass into his pos- 
session, society was prepared to exalt him on its 
highest pedestal and fall down and glorify him. 

What Mrs. Treherne thought of such a formidable 
rival, in the person of her old admirer, could only 
be conjectured; for she carried neither her heart 
nor mind on her sleeve. They met with easy cor- 
diality; and nothing in their intercourse ever be- 
trayed the secret thoughts of either. If Hastings 
entertained any hope that Mr. Darracote would make 
him his heir, he gave no sign of the anxiety which 
usually attends such a state of expectation. The 
grounds of his own home — the pretty cottage al- 
ready alluded to as ‘'a purely bachelor den” — ad- 
joined those of Argyle. It had been his custom all his 
life, when at home, to lounge over some time in the 
course of the day to spend a short time with his old 
friend and former guardian. What he had always 
done, he did now, neither more nor less. If spend- 
ing a short time with Mr. Darracote also meant, as 
a general rule, seeing Mrs. Treherne, why should 
he object to that.^ She was still an exceedingly 
handsome woman; and he liked, he had always 
liked, handsome women. He knew what his old 
power over her had been (men are not prone to 
underestimate facts of this kind); and he tested 
matters just far enough to ascertain that he could 
assert that power again if he chose to do so — if in 
any manner it became worth his while to do so. 

Mrs. Treherne, for her part, was not deficient in 
sharp wit, and she read the situation clearly. 

'‘If I win the fortune, I shall win him also,” she 
7 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

said to herself. If he wins it, I must go out into 
the world and find another Ogden Treherne. ” 

So matters had stood for several months; and so 
they still stood on the afternoon when Mr. Darra- 
cote’s malady had reached a critical stage, and Dr. 
Warner drove away from the door of Argyle, leaving 
Hastings standing there. 

He had not heard the step which approached his 
side, so he started when Mrs. Treherne spoke. 

‘H suppose Dr. Warner has told you that Mr. 
Darracote is dangerously ill.?” she said. 

“Yes,” Hastings replied. “But he also said 
there is still hope of his rallying again. And since 
that is the case, I am doubtful what to do.” 

“To do!” repeated Mrs. Treherne, in a slightly 
startled tone. “ To do — with regard to what .? ” 

“With regard to telling him of his danger,” 
Hastings said quietly. “He has known for some 
time that he is hopelessly ill, and hardly more than 
a week ago he exacted a promise from me that I 
would let him know whenever the doctor declared 
that death was near at hand. ” 

“ Why does he wish to know .? ” she asked. “ Has 
he not made his will .? ” 

At this involuntary betrayal of what was in her 
mind, Hastings smiled. 

“ I cannot answer that question, ” he said. “ There 
is nothing of which I know less than of Mr. Darra- 
cote’s testamentary arrangements^ He made the 
request without any explanation of his reason for 
doing so; and I promised that he should know the 
truth. The doubt which disturbs me now is whether 
or not the time has come for fulfilling that promise. ” 

8 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

It was a doubt which Mrs. Treherne could not 
help him to solve. Like himself, she was absolutely 
Ignorant of Mr. Darracote’s testamentary arrange- 
ments or intentions, but she could not view this 
request in any other light than as connected with 
them. Everything which she most valued or for 
which she most hoped in life, hung on a dying man’s 
caprice; and to influence that caprice was utterly 
beyond her power. Only one thing she knew — if 
he died intestate, the great inheritance would go 
neither to Hastings nor to herself. In neither of 
their veins did one drop of Darracote blood flow. 
Hence nothing would be gained by hindering him 
from making a will. 

Thoughts like this passed swiftly through her 
mind as she stood with her eyes fastened absently 
on the velvet lawn that sloped away into the shadowy 
woods of the surrounding park. It was a fair scene 
with the golden beauty of the low-slanting sun upon 
it; but she was not heeding its fairness, not even to 
think of the contrast it presented to that darkened 
chamber where its owner lay racked by cruel pain. 
At last she turned to Hastings. 

''You don’t care for my opinion, I suppose,” she 
said, "but if I were in your place, I would tell him 
the truth. To wait until the doctor says he is dying 
— doctors are very slow to say such things — may be 
to wait too long. ” 

As she spoke a servant — a tall, slender colored 
man — came, with the quiet tread of a well-trained 
domestic, through the hall and out on the portico. 

"If you please, Mr. Hastings,” he said, "my mas- 
ter wishes to see you.” 


9 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Hastings turned quickly. 

“Ah, Jasper!” he said. “How is Mr. Darracote 
now ? ” 

“A little easier, sir,” Jasper answered, “but very 
weak. As soon as he heard that the doctor was 
gone, he told me to ask you to come to him.” 

Hastings and Mrs. Treherne exchanged a glance. 

“Very well,” the former said. “I’ll go 
immediately.” 


II 

H e entered the hall, passed upstairs, and was 
quietly ushered into Mr. Darracote’ s chamber 
by Jasper, who whispered as he opened the door: 

“Take care, if you please, sir, not to make any 
noise.” 

The caution was not uttered without reason ; for 
Hastings found the chamber so dark that he might 
readily have come in contact with a piece of furni- 
ture or tripped over a rug, little as he was given to 
such acts of awkwardness. With extreme care he 
managed to thread his way, without any misadven- 
ture, to the side of the richly carved bedstead, on 
which — propped by large pillows into a half-sitting 
posture — a gaunt, emaciated man lay, breathing 
with difficulty, his wasted hands resting before him 
on the coverlet. 

He opened his eyes as Hastings gently touched 
the hands, saying, in a voice of concern : 

“ I am deeply grieved, my dear Mr. Darracote, to 
see that you are suffering so much.” 

“Ah, Gerard! is it you .^” he said faintly. “Suf- 

lO 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

fering ! Yes, I have been in agony; but I am some- 
what easier now. Sit down.” 

Hastings sank into a chair placed beside the bed, 
and for a minute there was silence; while a nurse 
came forward, gave the sick man a few drops of 
medicine, and then withdrew into an adjoining 
room. When she disappeared, Mr. Darracote spoke 
again : 

‘‘Does Warner think I can weather this, Gerard.? 
I asked him the question, but he evaded it. Per- 
haps he told the truth to you.” 

“He told me that your situation is critical and 
dangerous, but not hopeless,” Hastings answered. 

“‘Critical and dangerous! ’ ” repeated Mr. Darra- 
cote. “ With a man of my age and my disease, that 
meajts hopeless. I think that the end is near.” 

Looking at the face before him, noting the ex- 
hausted pulse and painful breath, Hastings thought 
so, too; but the absolute truth is seldom spoken 
even to the hopelessly ill, therefore he said : 

“You cannot judge of your own condition, and 
Dr. Warner does not think that you are in imme- 
diate danger. But he will return in an hour or two, 
bringing Dr. Lacy with him; and then — ” 

He stopped; for, notwithstanding the patient’s 
prostrated condition, a familiar and unmistakable 
gleam of anger came into his eyes. 

“Warner did not tell me that he would bring 
another physician,” he said. “Who gave him per- 
mission to do so .? ” 

“Mrs. Treherne, I believe.” 

“And what right had Mrs. Treherne to be con- 
sulted in such a matter.? ” asked the sick man, sternly. 

II 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


** I am not yet in articulo mortis ; and if I were, 
what is Mrs. Treherne but a guest in my house 
He paused a moment, struggled for breath, and 
presently went on in a more labored tone. I sent 
for you partly to ask what Warner said, partly to put 
a question about her. I have no time for prelimina- 
ries, so it is plainly this : Do you intend to marry 
her.?” 

‘‘Good Heavens, sir! why should you imagine 
such a thing.? ” asked Hastings, more startled than 
he would have liked to acknowledge; since to enter- 
tain certain vague plans dependent on future events 
was one thing, and to be called upon to define his in- 
tentions in this summary manner quite another. 

“I don’t imagine it,” responded Mr. Darracote, 
irritably. “I can hardly think that you are such a 
fool. But there is no telling. I do not ask the 
question without a reason, and I shall be glad if 
you will answer it.” 

It is probable that no man called upon to answer 
such a question ever found himself in a more em- 
barrassing dilemma than Hastings. It was impos- 
sible to say, “ I will marry her if you leave your 
fortune to her; otherwise I shall not.” And since 
it was impossible to say this, what was the best 
thing (for his own interest) to reply .? He had only 
a few seconds to consider the matter; for he felt that 
hesitation might rouse Mr. Darracote’s suspicion. 
Trusting, therefore, to impulse, he said: 

“ I have no intention of the kind. Mrs. Treherne 
is not a woman whom I could ever desire to make 
my wife.” 

“She is a woman who would wreck the life of 


12 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

any man who did make her his wife,” said Mr. Dar- 
racote. There was another pause, and then he 
added faintly . I have one or two things to say, 
but I can talk no more now. What time will War- 
ner be back } ” 

‘‘At eight o’clock.” 

“Then send a messenger and tell Kirby to be 
here at half-past eight. Let the doctors say what 
they will, I know that I cannot last much longer, 
and I have some instructions to give Kirby.” 

He motioned toward the door as he spoke, and 
Hastings left the room, much more disturbed in 
mind than when he entered it. Had he done well 
or ill for himself.? Impossible to say; impossible 
even to imagine. Only one thing was certain, — 
Kirby was Mr. Darracote’s lawyer; and the instruc- 
tions for which he was to come were, no doubt, in- 
structions with regard to that last will and testament 
concerning which the dying man had ever been so 
reticent. 

“To whom will it go.?” Hastings thought, as he 
walked out of the stately house and looked over the 
wide beauty of the grounds. “Perhaps we are all 
astray in our conjectures. Perhaps, like some other 
eccentric rich men, he will found a college or a 
hospital. But why did he ask me if I intended to 
marry Mrs. Treherne.?” 

This was a question far more easily asked than 
answered; for though he had asked it many times, 
he had not once answered it to his satisfaction, when, 
two hours later, he found himself in the drawing- 
room with Mrs. Treherne, while the two physicians 
had gone to Mr. Darracote’s chamber. Probably 

13 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


because he had in a manner renounced her, she had 
never since the long past day when she was Eleanor 
Lucas, appeared so attractive to him as she appeared 
this evening. Of her beauty there could be no 
question, and she was a woman who knew how to 
heighten and adorn it to the best advantage. Sup- 
pressed excitement, perhaps, had a share in lending 
brilliance to her; at least her eyes were gleaming 
like jewels, and on her cheeks was a flush like the 
heart of a rose. 

Dressed perfectly, she made a very charming pic- 
ture as she sat in a deep chair near one of the open 
windows. The rich room stretched on one side in 
dim perspective; on the other, beyond curtains 
lightly swaying with the breeze, stars were shining 
out of an evening sky, flowers were giving forth 
their fragrance, and there was the soft murmur of 
falling water from a fountain on the lawn. Ease, 
luxury, beauty — surely there was never any one 
whom these things seemed more appropriately to 
surround ; and as Hastings looked at her, he asked 
himself if he had ever seen a woman more capable of 
satisfying his taste. That he did not import his 
heart into the affair was not surprising. The woman 
who jarred least on his fastidiousness had become 
the woman whom he preferred; and if at this 
moment Mr. Darracote’s question had been asked 
again, he might have given a different answer. 

Yet he was not concerned about the answer which 
he had given, for, whatever effect it might have on 
Mrs. Treherne’s prospects, he felt a comfortable 
assurance that it would not influence his own. If, 
by a chance which was hardly credible, the dying 
H 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


man should leave the fortune to her, Hastings knew 
his power over her too well not to know that he 
could exert it to any extent he pleased. If, on the 
other hand, — and this he thought extremely prob- 
able, — Mr. Darracote should leave it to him, he 
could ask Eleanor Treherne to share it, if he chose 
to do so. Of the probability of yet another disposi- 
tion of it he thought little. Mr. Darracote had 
never evinced any tendency to indulge in philan- 
thropic vagaries; and besides Mrs. Treherne and 
himself, there were no apparent aspirants for the 
fortune which hung trembling in the balance. 

“The doctors are paying a long visit,” said Mrs. 
Treherne, breaking a pause, in which they heard 
the plaintive note of a whippoorwill in the recesses 
of the park. “Poor Uncle Darracote! It seems 
hard to be obliged to leave this charming place and 
go — who knows where ” 

“ I thought it had been pretty well settled by this 
time that one is to go nowhere,” answered Hastings, 
carelessly. “But that does not make leaving the 
good things of life any easier. Did I tell you, 
by the by, that Mr. Darracote has sent for his 
lawyer } ” 

She glanced at him sharply, but did not change 
her attitude, nor cease to wave back and forth the 
fan which enabled her to display so well a hand and 
wrist of unsurpassed beauty. “ No, you did not 
tell me,” she said. “When did he do so?” 

“When I told him Dr. Warner’s opinion of his 
condition. He thinks himself that the end is very 
near, and he sent at once for Kirby, desiring him to 
be here at half-past eight.” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


‘‘ I suppose it is useless to ask if he told you any- 
thing of his intentions?” 

'Ht is useless, simply because he told me noth- 
ing. Believe me, I know no more than yourself of 
Mr. Darracote’s intentions, nor have I ever made 
the least effort to know anything with regard to 
them.” 

'‘He has kept his counsel remarkably well,” she 
said thoughtfully. “I fancy few men fail to give 
some clue to their probable intentions, but he has 
given none; and I think” — here she glanced again 
at the face before her— “that, no matter what our 
speculations may have been, his will, when it is 
read, will surprise us.” 

“Nothing is more likely,” Hastings calmly re- 
plied. “He is an eccentric man, and eccentricity 
is betrayed in nothing so much as in last wills and 
testaments. Ah, here come the doctors now ! ” 

The two physicians entered as he spoke, walking 
slowly, and speaking together gravely. Like all of 
their profession, they were well accustomed to 
reading death-warrants; but the words which they 
would have uttered with little heed over Brown, 
Jones, or Robinson required a certain decorum and 
formality when pronounced upon Mr. Darracote. 

Still, the sentence was spoken with sufficient 
plainness. They would do all in their power to 
alleviate the suffering of the patient, and they could 
not say in how long or how short a time death 
might ensue; but even partial rallying was out of 
the question. Life might be prolonged for a day 
or two, but might again be measured only by a few 
hours. 

i6 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“Have you told Mr. Darracote this.>” asked 
Hastings. 

Dr. Warner replied in the affirmative. 

‘"Mr. Darracote’s mind was never clearer than at 
present, he said. He desired to know the exact 
truth, and with Dr. Lacy’s opinion supporting my 
own, I felt that I had no right to withhold it from 
him. I therefore told him what I have told you, 
and he asked if his lawyer had arrived.” 

Hastings glanced at a clock the hands of which 
were pointing to half-past eight. 

“He will be here soon,” he answered; and as he 
spoke a servant at the door announced : 

“Mr. Kirby.” 


Ill 



HE lawyer who followed closely on the an- 


I nouncement of his name, was a keen-faced, 
middle-aged man, who wore an expression of extreme 
gravity as he advanced into the room, — not only 
because such an expression was proper and decorous 
under the circumstances, but also because he sin- 
cerely regretted to part with an old friend and good 


client. 


“ I am truly sorry to learn that Mr. Darracote is 
so ill,” he said, turning to Dr. Warner after his gen- 
eral greetings were over. “ Is there no hope? ” 

“ None, I regret to say,” Dr. Warner answered. 

Such serious symptoms have appeared that the end 
is, I am afraid, close at hand. His mind is clear, 
however, and he is at present free from pain ; there- 
fore I advise you to see him as soon as possible.” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Let Mr. Darracote know that Mr. Kirby is here,” 
said Mrs. Treherne to the servant, still standing at 
the door. 

An interval of a few minutes followed in which the 
doctors repeated their professional statements in de- 
tail, and Mr. Kirby listened gravely. Then the ser- 
vant reappearing said that Mr. Darracote would see 
the lawyer at once, and the medical men took their 
departure, — Dr. Warner promising to return in a 
few hours. 

Left again alone together, Mrs. Treherne and 
Hastings fell into silence, which each found difficulty 
in breaking; for within the last few minutes the con- 
sciousness of tension, of crisis, in the situation had 
greatly increased. 

The verdict of the doctors, the appearance of the 
lawyer, were realizing signs that the end was at hand 
for the master of so much wealth, the joyless owner 
of so much luxury; and, in a limited sense, for them 
also. To Mrs. Treherne it would be the end of shel- 
tered ease, of a position in which she had delighted 
at the head of a stately establishment ; and to Hast- 
ings the end of uncertainty, and perhaps also of hope. 
It is probable that he had never acknowledged to 
himself how much he hoped until now that he found 
himself contemplating possible disappointment. Noth- 
ing is more common than such unconscious self- 
deception. But there comes at last a moment when 
it is shattered, and when, with a startled surprise, we 
are face to face with the knowledge that we have 
hoped and that we do care for some good which we 
are on the point of losing. So Hastings, leaning 
back in his chair and gazing abstractedly out into the 

i8 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

soft obscurity of the summer night, was facing the 
possibility of a disappointment which he knew now 
would be far greater than he had anticipated, when 
Mrs. Treherne’s voice — a voice which although musi- 
cal always conveyed to a sensitive ear a suggestion 
of insincerity — broke the silence. 

“It seems very strange,” she observed medita- 
tively, “ that we know so little about Uncle Darra- 
cote’s family connections. He must have some: 
nobody is absolutely without relations.” 

“Certainly not a rich man,” Hastings agreed. 
“ One may occasionally hear of a poor man in that 
fortunate condition.” 

“ How can you be so cynical? ” said she, reproach- 
fully. “But he really must have some, you know; 
and, that being the case, however he leaves his for- 
tune, we shall be sure to hear of them. Cousins to 
the tenth degree assert themselves when a childless 
rich man dies.” 

“ However Mr. Darracote leaves his fortune, I 
think we may trust him, who was always the shrewd- 
est of business men, and Mr. Kirby, the most cautious 
of lawyers, to guard against any possibility of break- 
ing his will,” Hastings answered. “ But are you not 
taking too much for granted in speaking of Mr. 
Darracote as ^childless’?” 

She opened her eyes widely. 

“What do you mean? I thought there was noth- 
ing more certain than that he was childless.” 

“ On the contrary, it comes to me as a half-forgot- 
ten memory that I have heard my father — who was 
his oldest and perhaps his only intimate friend — 
speak of a marriage before his marriage with your 

19 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


aunt, and of a daughter who ran away with an actor 
and was never forgiven.” 

“ Good Heavens ! Why, in that case he may have 
any number of direct heirs ! And you have known 
such a thing all these years and never mentioned 
it!” 

Why should I have mentioned it? Gossip is not 
much in my line, and certainly the matter concerned 
no one but Mr. Darracote himself.” 

It will very much concern any one to whom he 
may leave his fortune.” 

“ Perhaps. But, as I have remarked, we may trust 
him to employ every legal safeguard for his will. 
Besides, it also occurs to me that I have heard that 
the daughter in question is dead.” 

And left no children? ” 

“ Of that I know nothing. But I consider such a 
fact highly improbable ; for we know Mr. Darracote 
as a just man, and it is not likely that he would 
carry resentment of his daughter’s disobedience so 
far as to refuse to acknowledge and care for her 
children had she left any.” 

“Still, it is possible — ” 

“ Oh I yes, anything is possible^ even the most un- 
characteristic things, as a little knowledge of the 
world speedily assures one. But in this case it is not 
probable.” 

Mrs. Treherne remained silent for a moment, star- 
ing at him with eyes still widely distended with 
astonishment; then she threw herself back in her 
chair with a rather harsh laugh. 

“After all, why should I be surprised? There are 
hidden chapters in every life. And how does it 
20 


If 

f WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

t' 

matter to me ? I am not likely to be his heir. If he 
leaves me a few thousands to help me along in life, 
it will be as much as I can expect. And yet ” — she 
drew in her breath sharply — “it is the unexpected 
which happens. I am such a fool that I say that to 
myself.” 

Hastings looked at her from under half-drooped 
lids. 

'‘I will imitate your candor,” he said. “You are 
no more of a fool than I am, and to both of us, I 
fancy, it is indeed the unexpected which will happen.” 

She made a quick dissenting gesture. 

“You know well that your chances are good — 
that there are none better.” 

“ That is where you are likely to be mistaken,” he 
answered coolly. “ Think what an old amusement it 
is of rich men to foster hopes, in order to give them- 
selves at last the exquisite pleasure of disappointing 
them. Probably Mr. Darracote has been long en- 
gaged in perfecting plans to found and endow a 
Darracote School of the Liberal Arts, or something 
else of the kind, while smiling cynically to himself at 
the hopes he has now and again, by a chance word, 
excited in me. I have only the consolation that I 
never allowed him to perceive these hopes. But he 
knew human nature too well not to divine their exist- 
ence. Of that I am certain.” 

“ I think you are mistaken,” said Mrs. Treherne. 
“ I have heard him speak many times of your indiffer- 
ence to money. And I am sure that if he has any 
affection for any one on earth it is for you.” 

“ Granted,” replied Hastings. “ And yet he may 
disappoint me.” 

21 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Of course/’ she assented, that is always 
possible.” 

And so silence fell again between them, this man 
and woman steeped to the lips in worldliness, and so 
clearly cognizant each of the other’s position, the 
other’s thoughts. To neither did the deep pathos of 
the situation, so far as it concerned the dying man, 
appeal in the least. Frank materialists in belief as 
well as in practice, although neither had ever taken 
the trouble to formulate this belief, they gave not a 
thought to the soul so soon to go forth upon its last 
journey, unshriven and unprepared; nor did they 
bestow even a passing emotion of pity qn the sadness 
of a death-bed bereft of all human affection. Doctors, 
nurses, and expectant heirs, — these were gathered 
about the dying man ; but of hearts to know a pang, 
of eyes to shed a tear, of lips to utter a prayer, there 
were none. No pauper, breathing his last in the 
charity ward of a hospital, was ever more poor in 
such respect than this owner of millions in his luxu- 
rious home. 

And yet it was only according to the law of an 
inevitable justice that these millions stood between 
him and other human hearts in death, as they had 
stood in life. As his own heart had hardened in the 
process of amassing them, and as he had suffered 
them to form a barrier, instead of a connecting link, 
between himself and his fellow-men, so were they now 
first in the thoughts of all who surrounded him, and 
who might else have given him at least a sentiment 
of compassion in this his hour of extremest need. 

Make to yourselves friejids of the mammon of in- 
iquity!'' How deeply wise the counsel, only those 
22 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

know who have seen death-beds where there were no 
such friends; where the dying man’s wealth had 
I bought for him no blessing of the poor, no gratitude 
of the distressed, no mourning from hearts which 
bounty had relieved or kindness touched. And 
among all the pitiable things of life there is none 
more deserving of infinite pity than a death-bed like 
this. 

The silence which had fallen in the drawing-room 
was only in keeping with the wider silence which 
brooded over the spacious house in all its parts. It 
was almost possible to fancy that it had been set 
wide open and hushed into stillness for the entrance 
of the Angel of Death; and that one who listened 
closely might hear the rustle of his wings, stirring the 
deep silence as he entered and passed on his way to 
do the bidding of God. 

Suddenly the sharp sound of the door-bell rang 
through the house, breaking the stillness; and Mrs. 
Treherne started. 

“How inexcusable!” she exclaimed. “I told 
Ellis to keep one of the men at the door to prevent 
anything of that kind. Such negligence is unpardon- 
able ! But servants — ” 

Hastings lifted his hand for silence. 

“ Who can be speaking in such a tone ! ” he 
said. 

It was an eager, insistent voice, which could be 
heard speaking excitedly, urging some point with 
energy and persistence, and broken only by pauses 
which were filled with a servant’s low-pitched replies. 

Mrs. Treherne and Hastings looked at each other 
as they listened. 


23 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ Can it be that one of the unknown relatives has 
already arrived?” said the former. 

Hastings smiled ; but before he could answer the 
servant presented himself at the drawing-room door. 

“If you please, Mr. Hastings,” he said, “there is 
some one here who insists on seeing Mr. Darracote, 
although I Ve told him it ’s impossible. He won’t | 
go away; he says he must see somebody ^ so I thought i 
perhaps you ’d speak to him.” 

Hastings glanced at Mrs. Treherne. 

“ With your permission,” he said, “ I will see who | 
this persistent person is.” I 

He rose as he spoke, and went into the hall, where I 
a small, spare man, with a thin, deeply wrinkled face, 
the skin of which was the color of parchment and 
out of which looked a pair of eager, pathetic brown 
eyes, came forward to meet him. 

“ Mr. Hastings ! ” he cried. “ It has been a long 
time since you saw me, and perhaps you have for- 
gotten me. Wilkins is my name — Peter Wilkins.” 

Hastings extended his hand with the graceful cor- 
diality which had in his life won for him many friends. 

“ I remember you well, Mr. Wilkins,” he answered, 

“ although it has been many years since we met. 
You are still in Mr. Darracote’s employ? ” 

“ StiU in the house, sir, — the oldest clerk in it at 
the present time. I fancied there would have been 
a change for me before long. Mr. Darracote inti- 
mated something of the kind the last time I saw him; 
but if any change comes now, it will not be of the 
sort I expected. Is it true, sir,” — his voice sank, — 

“ that Mr. Darracote is dying? ” 

“ I regret to say that it is true,” replied Hastings. 

24 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

The doctors have just been in consultation over 
his case, and they give no hope.” 

“Is he— is he conscious?” the old clerk asked 
eagerly. 

“Perfectly conscious at present; but, of course 
we do not know how long this state will last.” 

“ Then, Mr. Hastings, I beg you to let me see him. 
Don’t deny me, sir, — don’t! I will not remain 
long ; I will not say more than a few words to him ; 
but it is most important — most necessary. I must 
see him before he dies 1 ” 

“ Mr. Wilkins,” said Hastings, gravely, “ do you 
think it likely that Mr. Darracote’s friends will per- 
mit him to be disturbed on his death-bed by any 
personal appeal — ” 

“ Good Heavens, sir ! ” interrupted Wilkins. “ Do 
you suppose that I wish to make any appeal to Mr. 
Darracote for myself? If that were the case, I should 
deserve to be kicked out of doors. No I What I 
wish to say to him — what I must say to him — is on 
behalf of — is with regard to a matter in which per- 
sonally I have no concern. But it concerns Mr. 
Darracote so deeply that I should not be justified 
in the sight of either God or man if I failed to go to 
him. Don’t take the responsibility of refusing me 
admittance to him, Mr. Hastings ; for it will be a 
greater responsibility than you can guess.” 

Hastings, looking at the deeply agitated face of 
the speaker, recognized unmistakable sincerity. 
Many conjectures passed through his mind, but he 
did not give utterance to any of them. He only 
said, with a quietness which was in marked contrast 
to the vehemence of the other: 

25 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ It really does not depend upon me to refuse or to 
grant your request. Mr. Darracote’s physician — ” 

“ Is he here?” 

Not now. But when he returns I will inquire if 
it is possible to grant your request.” 

The old man made a gesture of despair which 
would not have misbecome a tragic actor. 

“ And while we are waiting for the doctor,” he 
said, ‘‘ death may not wait. Mr. Hastings, if I tell 
you the circumstances of the case I am sure you will 
acknowledge that there should be no delay — ” 

“ Stop ! ” said Hastings, quickly. Tell me noth- 
ing more than this: does the matter concern Mr. 
Darracote himself as well as the person or persons 
on whose behalf you are here?” 

It concerns Mr. Darracote more vitally than any- 
thing else on earth could concern him,” was the 
solemn reply. 

“ Then I will take the responsibility of asking Mr. 
Darracote if he wishes to see you. But even for 
this you must wait. His lawyer is with him now — ” 
“ His lawyer ! ” ejaculated Wilkins. He seized the 
other’s arm and shook it violently. Man,” he cried, 
“ I tell you there is no time to lose ! Unless I see 
him, and see him quickly, hopeless injustice will b-e 
done. Come ! — let us go to him at once. Come ! ” 
Releasing himself with decision, Hastings in his 
turn took, with a firm grasp, the arm of the excited 
man, and led him across the hall and into the 
library, — a rich and beautiful room, full of the asso- 
ciation of its owner for those who knew him well and 
were accustomed to see him there. 

“ Sit down, Mr. Wilkins,” he said with the utmost 
26 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

composure. “ I have promised to do what I can for 
you, but you must wait the proper opportunity. 
There is, I believe, no immediate danger of death 
for Mr. Darracote ; and we certainly do not wish to 
hasten the end by any ill-advised shock. Calm your- 
self; I will order a glass of wine for you,” — he rang 
the bell, — “ and I will leave you for a short time, in 
the hope that when I come back I shall find you able 
to see Mr. Darracote, should he consent to see you, 
without incurring the danger of exciting him by your 
appearance and manner.” 

The old clerk looked up out of the chair in which 
he had been placed, with a pleading expression in 
his pathetic eyes. He was making a strong effort to 
control himself, although his hands were shaking 
visibly. 

“ I will, sir, — I will calm myself,” he said. “ Don’t 
be afraid to let me see him. So much depends on it 
— so much ! ” 

‘‘ I will do the best I can for you,” Hastings 
answered. 

And then he left the room. 


IV 



T the door Hastings met the servant whom his 


touch of the bell had summoned, and gave 
the order for a glass of wine for Mr. Wilkins; after 
which he hesitated, not knowing what to do with 
himself. He had no inclination to return to the 
drawing-room and run the gauntlet of Mrs. Tre- 
herne’s questions; and less inclination, perhaps. 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


because he had no satisfactory explanation of his 
conduct to offer. Why had he not sent the old 
clerk away, with the simple announcement that Mr. 
Darracote’s condition rendered it impossible for any 
one to see him? Why had he listened to his 
entreaties and pledged himself to try to fulfil his 
unreasonable request ? And — crowning mystery, as 
he knew it would be in Mrs. Treherne’s estimation 
— why had he refused to listen to the explanation 
of his strange insistence which Wilkins wished to 
give ? 

Since he could not answer these questions to him- 
self, further than by saying that a strange impulse 
had possessed him, that the passionate urgency and 
evident distress of the old man had wrought upon 
him to a point of unusual self-forgetfulness, and 
that some sudden instinct had risen up to forbid a 
knowledge of matters which did not concern him, 
he knew that it would be vain to attempt to answer 
them any more satisfactorily to Mrs. Treherne. 
Therefore he turned his back on the drawing-room 
and walked to the staircase, deciding that he would 
go up and wait for the lawyer’s departure to see Mr. 
Darracote and make an effort, at least, to keep his 
word to the old clerk in the library. 

Absorbed in these thoughts, he mounted the easy, 
shallow steps without lifting his eyes; and so started 
with surprise when on a broad landing where the 
staircase divided and a graceful statue stood bearing 
a lamp, he found himself facing Mr. Kirby. 

“I was coming for you, Mr. Hastings,” said the 
lawyer, gravely. Mr. Darracote wishes to see 
you. ” 


28 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Hastings glanced at him keenly. 

“Does he wish me to sign anything.? ” he asked. 

“No,” the other replied. “All that is over. Mr. 
Darracote’s will has been long made, — he is not a 

man to leave such a matter to the hour of death, 

and he only wanted to add a eomparatively unimpor- 
tant codieil. This has been signed and witnessed. 
Afterward he asked for you. So I said that I would 
send you. You eannot go to him too soon. He is 
failing rapidly. ” 

They parted without further words, one proceed- 
ing downward, the other upward. Gaining the 
seeond floor, Hastings passed quickly to the cham- 
ber where he had been in the afternoon. Jasper, 
who was sitting beside the door, rose to open it for 
him. The face of this faithful servant was the only 
one in the house which bore a sign of grief. He 
had served the dying man all his life, — ever since 
in his youth he had followed him from his early 
Southern home, — and there was honest sorrow in 
his heart for the ending of their long association. 

“Mr. Hastings, what do the doctors say.?” he 
asked in a whisper, as he stood with his hand on 
the door-knob. 

“They say there is no hope, Jasper,” Hastings 
answered, with a sympathetic glance; for it suddenly 
occurred to him that here was the only mourner at 
this death-bed. 

“ Do they — think he ’s going fast .? ” Jasper asked 
again, his voice breaking. 

“Very fast, I fear,” Hastings replied. “They do 
not think he will last long; so don’t detain me, my 
poor fellow, — he has sent for me.” 

29 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Jasper instantly opened the door, and Hastings 
entered the sick-chamber, which was now lighted 
with the soft glow of a shaded lamp. Again he 
made his way, this time without difficulty, to the 
side of the bed where Mr. Darracote, still supported 
by many pillows to a half-sitting position, lay. 

It seemed to Hastings, as his glance fell on him, j 
that the signs of impending dissolution were more ! 
evident on the countenance than they had been in 
the afternoon. For an instant he feared that the 
fatal stupbr of death had set in, so lifeless looked 
the face, sunk forward with closed eyes until the 
chin touched the breast. But the nurse, at whom he 
glanced with quick interrogation, shook her head. 

“He is conscious,” she murmured. And indeed 
there was immediate proof of this fact; for at the 
sound of her whisper the sick man opened his eyes 
and met -the gaze fastened on him with one so keen ' 
and intelligent that it was evident the spark of life ' 
had once more flickered up brightly. 

“You have come quickly, Gerard,” he said — and 
the voice seemed to the listener stronger than it had 
been a few hours before. “ I was afraid you might 
have left the house. ” : 

“I shall not leaive the house while there is the 
least probability of your wanting me,” Hastings 
answered. 

The sick man nodded slightly. 

“That is well,” he said. “I shall not want you 
long; but for the present I am glad you are here. 

I have something of importance to say to you. 
Nurse, oblige me by going into the next room and 
closing the door. ” 

30 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

The nurse rose, paused a moment to feel his pulse 
and give him a powerful heart stimulant, and then 
complied with his request. After she had retired, 
Mr. Darracote looked at Hastings, who had seated 
himself beside the bed. 

I want to speak to you of my will,” he went on. 
^‘I want to explain it.” 

am ready to listen to whatever you wish to 
say,” Hastings replied, with the calmness and air 
of close yet unhurried attention which are so sooth- 
ing to the sick and suffering. 

am afraid you will be disappointed, Gerard,” 
Mr. Darracote said wistfully. “ I have thought of 
making you my heir; and, honestly, it would have 
given me pleasure to do so, — more pleasure than 
any other disposition which I could have made of 
my property. But it did not seem to me as if it 
were a pleasure which I could allow myself. I had 
an old debt to pay, — a debt of early kindness and 
assistance. Some men forget these debts, but I 
have never done so; though perhaps I am late in 
paying mine. Long ago, when I was a fatherless 
lad, I had an uncle who gave me my education and 
start in life. It is to his son — the only other 
Darracote beside myself of whom I know — that I 
have left the bulk of my estate. He must be an 
incapable person, for he is some kind of an artist 
and he has never made his way in the world. But 
there’s self-respecting stuff in him; for, although 
he knew of the old indebtedness as well as I, he has 
never asked help from me. No doubt, he thought 
that I should have offered it. Well, I give it now 
— full measure.” 


31 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


He paused, and Hastings made an effort to speak. 
He was astonished at a sensation as if his tongue 
were dry and his lips stiff. He thought that he had 
reckoned upon disappointment ; now, however, that 
the disappointment came, he found, like many an- 
other man, that he was not really prepared for it 
at all. 

“My dear Mr. Darracote,” he said at last, “you 
have always showed me great kindness, for which, I 
assure you, I am grateful; but I have never con- 
sidered that this kindness gave me any claim upon 
your fortune. You must not think that any expla- 
nation of your intentions with regard to it is due to 
me.” 

“But I do think so,” replied Mr. Darracote, with 
astonishing energy. “There is an explanation due 
to you. The world has thought you likely to be my 
heir, and you must, to some extent, have shared the 
belief. I hesitated long, I wanted to leave it to 
you ; for I have felt toward you, Gerard, as if you 
were the son whom God has denied me.” 

It is to be hoped that it is recorded to Gerard 
Hastings’ credit, in a book where only selfless acts 
are placed, that he put out his hand here and laid it 
with an affectionate pressure on that from which he 
could hope for no more favors. 

“Let me repeat,” he said quietly, “that I am veryi^ 
grateful for your affection ; and when I have added 
that I understand why you have made this disposi- 
tion of your property, I don’t know that there is 
more to be said on the subject.” 

“Yes, yes!” answered the dying man, feverishly. 

“ There is much more don’t interrupt me I It was 
32 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

a relief to my mind when you assured me that you 
have no idea of marrying Mrs. Treherne. I have 
another plan for you. I have inquired — I have 
learned that my cousin, Gilbert Darracote, has a 
daughter ; and I hope that, if she suits your taste, 
you will marry her. I have set my heart on this. 
I meant to have them here and arrange it myself, 
but — now — you see I never shall.” 

'‘It was very kind of you to plan for me in such 
a manner,” said Hastings, who, however, at that 
moment felt a sudden emotion of anything rather 
than gratitude; “but you know things like this 
must, to some extent, arrange themselves; and 
so — ” 

“Don’t interrupt me!” said Mr. Darracote again. 
“What you may or may not do after I am gone I 
cannot help, but I want to make you understand 
what I have had in view in what / have done. My 
hope, then, has been that you will marry this girl, 
who is her father’s only child; and when they come 
here, it will depend upon yourself whether or not 
you do so. What I have left you — for, of course, I 
have to a certain extent taken care of your future — 
has no condition attached to it. It will make you 
rich enough to approach with perfect independence 
any woman, no matter how rich she may be. Don’t 
thank me, but remember I only ask in return that 
you will, if possible, marry this girl. Promise me 
that you will take the matter into consideration.” 

“I promise so much, certainly,” said Hastings; 
“and also that, in considering it, I shall remember 
your wishes, which will have the greatest weight 
with me.” 

3 


33 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

And I have dictated a letter to my cousin telling 
him my wishes; so I can do no more. I should be 
glad to think that all I have will eventually pass 
into your hands. There is — ^ no one else.” 

What was it that suddenly brought into Hastings’ 
mind the recollection of the old clerk in the library 
below, of his excitement, his agitation, his words, 
“Unless I see him, and $ee him quickly, hopeless 
injustice will be done ” ? Had such injustice already 
been done.? And if so, to whom.? He hesitated a 
moment. Dared he bring such agitation in contact 
with this man so near his end.? And yet could he 
take the responsibility of being silent — ^ break his 
word to the eager creature waiting for him.? He 
acted again on impulse. He leaned forward over 
the sick man, in whose wasted face the brilliant 
eyes shone with strange effect. 

“Mr.. Darracote,” he said, “there is a man below 
— Peter Wilkins is his name — who seems very 
anxious to see you, — so anxious, indeed, that I 
promised to let you know of his presence. You can 
tell whether or not there is any reason why you 
should see him.” 

“Peter Wilkins!” repeated Mr. Darracote. He 

frowned. “I know why he comes,” he said. “But 
how does he dare- Tell him, no! Certainly I 
will not see him.” 

Hastings touched a bell beside the bed, and 
Jasper appeared. 

“Go down to the library,” said Hastings, “and 
tell the person whom you will find there that Mr 
Darracote cannot see him. Make him understand 
that this is final.” 


34 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“And see that he leaves the house,” said his 
master, sharply. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Jasper, glancing from one 
face to the other; and then he noiselessly withdrew. 

“Wilkins!” repeated the dying man, as if to 
himself; and he began to open and shut his hands 
nervously. “ How often have I forbidden him to 
address me on this subject I And yet he ventures to 
come here — to my house I Perhaps he thinks that 
because I am on my death-bed I am also in my 
dotage. And — yet — yet — there may be a bare 
chance that he has some new information. Gerard, 
I — I think that I must see him for a moment — just 
for a moment.” 

“I am afraid that he will excite you too much, 
Mr. Darracote,” said Hastings, doubtfully. “It 
will be wiser to wait until the doctor comes — ” 

“The doctor! ” Mr. Darracote raised himself on 
his pillows with the strange strength which excite- 
ment lends to weakness. “ Do you suppose I shall 
ask permission of the doctor as to what I can do or 
not do, especially since he has read my death-war- 
rant ! ” he cried. “ Go down and bring that old fool 
up here. One glance at his face will tell me if it is 
the same story — or another. Go 1 ” 

“My dear Mr. Darracote, let me beg — ” 

A thin hand lifted, a bony finger pointed to the 
door; and, in a voice which no one connected with 
him had ever disobeyed, Mr. Darracote repeated : 

“ Go!” 


35 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


V 

H astings did not obey the imperative com- 
mand too soon. When he went down he 
found Jasper in the act of attending Peter Wilkins 
to the hall-door. The old clerk was making no 
protest : apparently he had recognized the futility 
of anything of the kind ; but, with a crestfallen air, 
his gray head bent and his hat in his hands, was 
submitting to be shown out of the house. His spare 
figure was already passing over the threshold when 
Hastings called quickly: 

^‘Mr. Wilkins!” 

He turned, his face lighting up with hope w’hen 
he saw who addressed him. Without giving him 
time to speak, Hastings went on : 

‘‘Mr. Darracote has changed his mind. He will 
see you for a few minutes. You are to go up to him 
at once. But remember that you must not excite 
him. Whatever you have to say must be said very 
briefly and very quietly. Don’t forget this.” 

“I shall not forget it,” the old man answered 
eagerly. “Thank you, Mr. Hastings, — thank you 
a thousand times. God will reward you, sir.” 

“It is not / whom you should thank,” said Hast- 
ings. “Mr. Darracote at first refused, and then 
decided that he would see you. Jasper, show Mr. 
Wilkins up.” 

“To Mr. Darracote’s room, sir.?” Jasper asked, 
hardly crediting his ears, in which his master’s last 
emphatic words were still ringing. 

36 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“To Mr. Darracote's room,” Hastings answered. 

He stood for an instant watching the two figures 
as they passed up the staircase, a speculating wonder 
in his mind with regard to the nature of the business 
which induced Mr. Darracote to consent to receive 
the old clerk. Then, turning sharply around, he 
found himself facing Mrs. Treherne. 

She had heard his voice when he called Wilkins, 
and from the drawing-room had seen the latter sent 
up to Mr. Darracote’s chamber. It was not sur- 
prising, therefore, that both curiosity and offence 
were plainly visible on her countenance. 

“I think, Mr. Hastings,” she said stiffly, “that, 
unless I am of no importance in this house, you 
might have let me know something of this person 
whom you have allowed to see Mr. Darracote.” 

“I beg pardon,” Hastings replied. “I have not 
allowed the person to see Mr. Darracote. He has 
gone up, as you probably heard me say to him, by 
Mr. Darracote’s own permission.” 

“But how was it that his request should have 
been taken to Mr. Darracote ” 

“For so much I am accountable. As you know, 

I was called out to some one who insisted on seeing 
Mr. Darracote — ” 

“And you never returned to tell me who it was! ” 

“Because just after I had taken the man in ques- 
tion — who is, by the by, an old clerk of Mr. Dar- 
racote’s named Peter Wilkins — into the library, and 
left him there, I met Mr. Kirby, who told me that 
Mr. Darracote wished to speak with me.” 

“Ah!” she ejaculated, drawing in her breath 
sharply. 


37 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“Of course I went to him immediately. He 
talked to me a little, explaining some of his 
wishes — ” 

“To his heir! Let me congratulate you,” she 
interrupted, with a sudden access of color in her 
cheeks and a painful smile about her lips. 

“Your congratulations are premature,” said Hast- 
ings, coldly. “I am not his heir. So much I may 
tell you, without violating confidence. Well, the 
few words he desired to say having been spoken, I 
remembered that I had promised Wilkins to ask if 
Mr. Darracote would see him. Mr. Darracote re- 
fused to do so, and Jasper was sent to convey the 
refusal to the old man. But hardly had the servant 
gone when Mr. Darracote changed his mind, decided 
that he would see him, and insisted on my going 
down and sending him up. Voild, tout ! ” 

There was a moment’s silence. With brows 
drawn into a frown, Mrs. Treherne gazed at the 
speaker. His reticence, of which she was very 
conscious, provoked her beyond measure; but she 
knew him too well to hope to draw from him ^.ny- 
thing more than he chose to tell. Questioning was 
useless, yet how refrain from expressing something 
of the exasperation and curiosity which surged 
within her.^ 

“It is a very singular story,” she said; “and I 
am sure you don’t expect me to believe that there 
is no more in it than you have told. But what I 
may or may not believe is of no importance. I 
quite understand that.” 

“I am sorry you think so,” Hastings answered, 
somewhat too carelessly for much effect. “How- 
38 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


ever, I have told you all that I know — all that there 
is to tell.” 

‘‘ But it is absurd ! ” she burst out. “ Why should 
this man insist on seeing Mr. Darracote.^ And why 
should Mr. Darracote, who has not seen his oldest 
friends for weeks, consent to see himV 

Her listener shrugged his shoulders. 

“Incredible as it may appear to you,” he said, 
“those are questions which I find myself unable to 
answer. Neither Mr. Wilkins nor Mr. Darracote 
took me into his confidence.” 

“You certainly asked the man what he wanted of 
Mr. Darracote ” 

“Again, incredible as it may seem to you, I did 
not.” 

“But he must have represented his business as 
being of the most urgent importance, to induce you 
to mention him to Mr. Darracote at such a time.” 

“ I have a weakness for keeping my word, unless 
the consequences involved are too serious,” Hastings 
replied. “I had promised the old fellow to men- 
tion him to Mr. Darracote, and that was the sole 
reason why I did so.” 

“ I consider that you acted like a — in a very 
foolish manner,” said Mrs. Treherne, her exaspera- 
tion increasing with her distinct appreciation of a 
subtle mockery in the tone and manner of this man, 
who had a power to move her possessed by no other. 
“You don’t know what distressing or exciting intel- 
ligence he may bear; and in permitting him to see 
Mr. Darracote you have certainly assumed a great 
responsibility. ” 

Hastings felt that the words were, in a degree at 
39 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


least, uncomfortably true. He had probably acted 
imprudently in mentioning the old clerk and his 
request to Mr. Darracote, and he had beyond doubt 
incurred a responsibility. But to acknowledge this 
to himself was one thing and to be arraigned as a 
culprit by Mrs. Treherne was quite another. To 
the latter, at least, he had no disposition to submit. 

“ I beg to disagree with your view of my respon- 
sibility,” he said. I acted upon my own judgment, 
because, in the absence of the doctor, there was no 
one whom I could consult before letting Mr. Darra- 
cote know that a man who had been long in his 
employ and might therefore be supposed to have 
some knowledge of his affairs, wished to see him on 
a matter which he stated to be of vital importance.” 

“ Of vital importance ! ” repeated Mrs. Treherne, 
pouncing upon the admission. “ So it seems that 
you do know something of his business! But, of 
course, it is useless to inquire what this vitally 
important matter was.” 

“ It is useless, because I know nothing more than 
I have said,” Hastings replied. He drew out his 
cigar-case. “To spare your asking any more ques- 
tions which I have no means of answering, I will go 
for a stroll and a smoke outside,” he said. “I shall 
return a little later.” 

He turned, and, taking up his hat, passed out 
through the open hall-door, leaving a deeply angered 
woman behind him. 

She remained motionless where he left her, gaz- 
ing after him, with the frown deepening on her fair 
forehead and her hands clinching in the strong 
impulse of her anger. It was an anger which had a 
40 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


deeper cause than the immediate offence of his dis- 
dainful speech. It went back and comprehended 
all the past as well as the present, — the past in 
which he had trifled with her in a manner no woman 
ever forgets or forgives, and the present in which 
he had stepped between her and the favor of the rich 
man who could have done so much for her. He 
might declare that he was not the heir of Mr. Dar- 
racote’s wealth; but instinct assured her of two 
things : first, that the dying man would not have 
spoken confidentially of his bequests to one who 
was excluded from them ; and, secondly, that to her 
no part of the fortune had come which made it worth 
Gerard Hastings’ while to pay her the respect of 
even ordinary deference. This she told herself as, 
standing alone, in the rich spaciousness of the lofty 
hall, she shivered from head to foot with impotent 
passion. 

“ If I could but htirt him ! ” she said to herself. 
“ I would be willing to do anything if I could accom- 
plish that at last. If I might pay off the long score, 
— if I might hurt him and disappoint him as he has 
hurt and disappointed me!” 

“Mrs. Treherne!” 

She started and turned abruptly. Jasper, in his 
felt slippers, had come noiselessly down the stair- 
case and stood beside her, an expression of great 
concern on his face. 

“Jasper! ” she exclaimed. “What is it.? Is your 
master worse ? ” 

“ He does n’t seem worse,” Jasper answered; “but 
I ’m afraid he ’s exciting himself too much. He ’s 
been talking to the old gentleman who went up; 

4T 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and now he wants Mr. Hastings, and I ’m to go for 
Mr. Kirby.” 

'‘For Mr. Kirby!” In sudden excitement, Mrs. 
Treherne seized the servant’s arm. “He must want 
to make another will 1 ” she cried breathlessly. 
“What has that man been saying to him Jasper, 
you must have heard 1 ” 

Jasper looked at her with wonder, and also with 
something of scorn. 

“I didn’t hear anything, ma’am,” he said. “Can 
you tell me where Mr. Hastings is.^ My master 
wants him at once.” 

“Mr. Hastings left the house; no doubt he has 
gone home,” Mrs. Treherne answered, resuming 
with an effort her composure of manner and speech. 
“I will send a messenger for him, but you must n’t 
wait. Go to the stable, get a light trap, and drive 
into the city for Mr. Kirby. If he is not at home, 
go to his club — go anywhere, but don’t fail to find 
and 'bring him.” 

“It’s not likely that I’ll fail to bring him if 
he’s above ground,” Jasper returned, with a shade 
of offence in his tone. Who was Mrs. Treherne 
that she should give orders to him This was the 
thought in his mind, as, straightening his shoulders, 
he walked away toward the rear of the house. 

And yet it did not occur to him to disregard that 
part of her order which related to Hastings. It was 
obvious that he could not spend time in going to the 
cottage if the more important errand to the lawyer 
was to be done. Another messenger would serve as 
well for the former purpose, and why should he have 
suspected that there was any danger of such a mes- 
42 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


senger not being sent ? Still less could he have sus- 
pected that Hastings was at the moment not more 
than a hundred yards distant, smoking his cigar 
on the lawn and keeping an eye upon the entrance of 
the house, that he might see when the old clerk 
emerged. For he had decided that he would walk 
with him to the gates, learn in what condition he 
had left Mr. Darracote, and perhaps obtain some 
knowledge of the nature of the business which had 
gained for him an interview that, as Mrs. Treherne 
truly remarked, had been denied many more im- 
portant persons. 

This decision taken, he had then, to a certain 
extent, put aside the thought of Peter Wilkins; for, 
however mysterious his business might be, it could . 
not, save as a matter of curiosity, concern him, 
Gerard Hastings, who now at last knew with cer- 
tainty Mr. Darracote’ s intentions toward himself. 
That those intentions had surprised him, and that 
they now occupied his thoughts very much to the 
exclusion of everything else, was not remarkable. 
The knowledge that the man, in whom he had never 
imagined a trace of sentiment, had been engaged in 
match-making schemes for his benefit was one of 
those strange illuminations which we sometimes 
unexpectedly receive upon the characters of those 
whom we fancy we know best. He smiled as he 
thought of it, pacing to and fro in the starlit dark- 
ness ; and then other thoughts, light and vague as 
the wreaths of smoke floating from the cigar between 
his lips, filled his mind. He had promised, abso- 
lutely pledged himself, to consider marriage-— 
marriage to which year by year he had grown more 
43 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

averse — with a woman of whose existence he had 
been ignorant an hour before ! Could anything be 
more incredible than this ? 

And yet the pledge was sufficiently indefinite to 
amuse rather than annoy him. Consider! That 
was all he was asked to do. The girl would come ; 
he would cast his critical glance upon her, give the 
weight he had promised to Mr. Darracote’s wishes 

— and to her fortune; then advance or withdraw, as 
he chose; his own independence in either case fully 
assured. It was an interesting situation, even for a 
blase man, — this which Mr. Darracote had so kindly 
created for him ; and, meditating upon all which it 
might involve, it is not surprising that he forgot the 
lapse of time, forgot to wonder why Peter Wilkins 

— strictly warned that his interview with Mr. Dar- 
racote could last only a few minutes — delayed his 
departure so long. 

Meanwhile Jasper’s tidings had left Mrs. Tre- 
herne quivering in every nerve with excitement, — 
eager, curious, certain of only one thing : that by no 
act of hers should Hastings be again summoned to 
Mr. Darracote’s bedside. In forming this resolu- 
tion she had no definite hope of inflicting any serious 
injury upon him. It was simply a relief to her 
exasperated feelings: a retaliation for the manner 
in which he had turned his back upon her and 
walked out of the house. He had chosen to send 
Peter Wilkins up to Mr. Darracote’s chamber with- 
out consulting her; now she would see that he was 
not consulted regarding the grave consequences 
which seemed likely to flow from that interview. 
And if these consequences should affect his interests 
44 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

injuriously, why, then, she would only the more 
readily seize any opportunity of forwarding them. 

One opportunity at least she was determined to 
seize, — that of meeting Peter Wilkins. Her knowl- 
edge of Mr. Darracote’s character told her that he 
would dismiss the old man as soon as he had ex- 
tracted from him whatever information he possessed 
or was the bearer of; so, throwing herself into a 
chair, she sat with her eyes fastened upon the stair- 
case, in an attitude of motionless yet alert expec- 
tancy. And the man for whom she waited was not 
long in appearing. Jasper had not been gone many 
minutes when down the brilliantly lighted staircase 
came the small, spare, shabbily dressed figure of the 
old clerk. He advanced hastily, with an apprehen- 
sive look in his eyes, which increased when he saw 
the startling vision of the lady who rose to confront 
him. 

“I am afraid,” she said, as he paused with a 
nervous bow, “that you must have left Mr. Dar- 
racote somewhat excited, Mr. — ah — Watkins.” 

“Perhaps a little, madam,” answered Peter Wil- 
kins. “But I hope the excitement will do him no 
harm. And I am grateful that I have had the 
opportunity of seeing him.” 

“It is an opportunity which, in my opinion, 
should not have been allowed,” said Mrs. Treherne, 
severely, “ unless the matter upon which you wished 
to see him was of the very greatest importance.” 

The old clerk looked at her steadily. 

“ It was a matter of the very greatest importance,” 
he replied. “Otherwise I should never have in- 
truded — never have ventured to ask to see him.” 

45 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ I suppose you know that the doctors have given 
up all hope of his recovery? ” 

Peter Wilkins bent his head. 

‘‘I grieve to know it,” he answered sadly. **But 
even on his death-bed- a man should be ready to do 
justice.” 

‘‘Justice!” she echoed sharply. “Justice to 
whom ? I am nearly related to Mr. Darracote, and 
have a right to know with what matter you have 
been troubling him.” 

“It is likely that you will know very soon,” 
Wilkins said. “But it is not my place to tell you. 
Mr. Darracote himself will no doubt do that.” 

“You know well that Mr. Darracote is a dying 
man,” she cried; “that he is not able to tell any- 
thing. I insist upon knowing what your business 
with him has been.” 

The old man glanced around, as if seeking some 
means of escape. 

“Excuse me!” he said; “but I am looking for 
Mr. Hastings. Mr. Darracote has asked for him.” 

“Mr. Hastings is not here; he has gone home,” 
said Mrs. Treherne. “ What is wanted with him ? ” 

Wilkins made a deprecating motion. 

“Mr. Darracote wishes to see him,” he said. “I 
know nothing more. But he is very anxious, and 
perhaps I had better return to tell him — ” 

“There is not the least necessity for that,” she 
interrupted peremptorily. “ I will send a servant 
for Mr. Hastings. As for yourself — you are return- 
ing to the city? ” 

“At once,” was the reply, in a tone of relief. 
“Thank God, I have accomplished what I came for’ 

46 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


And the rest is with him, I have nothing more to 
do with it. I am glad to go home.” 

Mrs. Treherne regarded him silently for a moment, 
measured, as it were, her strength with his; and 
saw that, old, frail, shabby as he was, he was too 
strong in the possession of that inner force of resist- 
ance which we call firmness, obstinacy, strength of 
will, for her to hope for success in any further 
attempt to wrest his secret from him. Then she 
suddenly perceived the next best thing to do. 

“Have you a carriage.^” she asked. “No.? In 
that case it is a pity you had not been a little 
earlier, and you might have driven in with the ser- 
vant who has gone for Mr. Kirby. Perhaps even 
yet it is not too late — he may not have started. I 
will inquire.” 

She rang a bell, although Wilkins made another 
deprecating gesture. 

“It does not matter,” he said. “You are very 
kind to think of it, but I have to walk only about a 
mile from the gates to reach one of the street 
railways.” 

“ If you must walk, there is a shorter path from 
the back of the house to the outskirts of the city,” 
she said. “And if Jasper is gone, you can save 
yourself much fatigue by taking that. Has Jasper 
gone.? ” she asked, turning quickly to a servant who 
presented himself. 

The man professed complete ignorance on the 
subject, — knew nothing of Jasper, was not aware 
that he was going anywhere. 

“Take this — gentleman to the stables,” said Mrs. 
Treherne. “If Jasper has not gone, tell him to 
47 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


take Mr. Watkins with him into the city. If he has 
gone, show Mr. Watkins the path which leads by a 
short cut to Boundary Avenue.” 

‘‘You are very kind, madam,” said the old clerk, 
much surprised by this unexpected consideration. 
“I am exceedingly obliged to you.” 

“Not at all!” replied Mrs. Treherne, with more 
truth than usually accompanies this form of words. 
“ Don’t delay or Jasper will be gone. Good-night 1 ” 
She watched him conducted away in an exactly 
contrary direction to that in which he would be 
likely to encounter Hastings; and as he disappeared 
she turned and went quickly upstairs. 


VI 

T he nurse looked up with a distinct air of relief 
when Mrs. Treherne entered the sick-chamber. 
“ I am glad to see a member of the family,” she 
said, in a low tone, as the latter reached her. 
“ Mr. Darracote is very much excited, and anxious 
for — ” 

“ Gerard ! — where is Gerard? ” the sick man cried 
impatiently. “ I sent for Mr. Hastings. Where 
is he?” 

“ I am sorry to say that he is not in the house. 
Uncle Darracote,” Mrs. Treherne replied, approach- 
ing the bedside. “ He went away as soon as he 
came downstairs.” 

“Went away! — after promising that he would 
stay as long as there was any possibility of my want- 
ing him ! Why did he go away? ” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ I suppose he thought you were not likely to 
want him again. What is it you require? Will not 
/do?” 

Yoit ! ” He gave her a glance of mingled irrita- 
tion and contempt. No ! I have no use for you / 
I want Gerard, and I cannot understand his going 
away. Have you sent for him? ” 

If she hesitated, the hesitation was imperceptible. 

“ Yes,” she replied, as clearly as if the words had 
been the truth instead of a falsehood. 

“ Then he ’ll be here soon. He won’t delay when 
he knows that I want him,” said Mr. Darracote. You 
should have told the servant not to loiter. If he went 
quickly, Gerard ought to be here in a few minutes — ” 

Meanwhile, I wish so much that there was any- 
thing I could do ! ” repeated Mrs. Treherne, in a tone 
of the most affectionate solicitude. “ I am afraid 
that person whom Mr. Hastings allowed to see you 
has worried you — done you harm — ” 

‘‘ Mr. Hastings did not allow that person to see 
me. /allowed him — I sent for him ! ” the sick man 
retorted. Contradiction seemed to afford relief to his 
irritability; and even at a less trying time those in- 
sincere tones would have irritated him. Then he 
closed his eyes and remained silent, his wasted face 
standing out in sharp relief against the white pillows 
which supported his head ; his breast rising and fall- 
ing with short, irregular breathings ; his fingers inter- 
lacing in a manner which indicated the great nervous 
tension he was enduring. 

Mrs. Treherne glanced at the nurse and lifted her 
eyebrows interrogatively. The nurse shook her head 
significantly. 

4 


49 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ It is a pity Mr. Hastings went away,” she mur- 
mured. This anxiety, this waiting, will do him 
more harm than anything else.” 

** Yes, it ts a pity,” said Mrs. Treherne. 

She looked back as she spoke at the death-like face 
on the pillows. It was a pity, from his point of view 
and Mr. Darracote’s, that he had gone away; but it 
was no concern of hers. The pathetic picture of the 
dying man, vainly endeavoring to restrain the impa- 
tience which he knew was shortening his minutes, 
already so briefly measured, — listening, with every 
faculty strained, for the familiar footstep, — did not 
affect her in the least. Her heart was hardened 
against both, — against him who had ungraciously 
given her the shelter of his roof but denied her any 
share of his wealth; and against the favorite, the 
fortunate one, who had so scornfully put her aside 
as of no account. Let him learn now of how much 
account she was ! She thought with absolute pleas- 
ure that he was loitering idly in the starlight, enjoy- 
ing his cigar perhaps in some spot within easy call, 
did she only choose to open the window overlooking 
the lawn and call to him. 

Mr. Darracote unclosed his glittering eyes again 
and looked at the nurse. 

“It is strange that he doesn’t come,” he said. 
“ That messenger must have delayed. Go and send 
another. Tell him to make haste — to lose no time 
— to bid Mr. Hastings come to me at once ! ” 

The nurse glanced at Mrs. Treherne. Sherfelt 
averse to leaving her patient. 

I had better ring for a servant and send the mes- 
sage,” she whispered, her hand moving toward the bell. 

• 50 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


But Mrs. Treherne stayed it. She could not after- 
ward tell under what instinct she acted ; but, what- 
ever it was, it had the force of an inspiration. 

Go ! ” she whispered in reply. “ We must humor 
him. I fancy this is only an excuse to send you out 
of the room. You can see that he has something on 
his mind which is troubling him exceedingly. If I 
am alone with him he may speak of it, and that will 
be a relief, — will occupy his attention until Mr. 
Hastings comes. So go ; and after you have sent 
the messenger it will be well for you to wait in my 
room, just across the corridor from this, until I call 
you. I am sure he wants to speak to me. ” 

“ What are you whispering about? ’’ demanded the 
invalid, angrily. It is not necessary to discuss my 
orders. Nurse, oblige me by doing as I request. 
Go and send a messenger for Mr. Hastings.” 

Mrs. Treherne gave a little nod and the nurse 
left the room. She was extremely reluctant to do so, 
for her practised eye perceived that the sick man was 
in a very dangerous condition ; but to refuse to obey 
both his request and that of the mistress of the house 
was impossible. 

She was no sooner gone than it became evident 
that Mr. Darracote had indeed desired to be relieved 
of the restraint of her presence, her deterring watch- 
fulness. To Mrs. Treherne’s great surprise, he 
immediately summoned her nearer to him by an 
imperative gesture. 

“ Raise me higher!” he said in a faint whisper. 
** Now put some more pillows behind me. I — I 
have something that I must do. I wanted Gerard to 
help me, but he is not here, — I never thought he 
5 * 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


would have gone away like this. I dare not wait for 
Kirby — if he comes it is well, and he can do it in 
right form ; but I — I must do it myself in some 
form, for fear he may not come in time. Give me 
pen and paper — quick ! ” 

O Uncle Darracote ! ” Mrs. Treherne gasped, — 
startled, frightened, and now almost disposed to 
regret the duplicity which left her here alone with 
one who presented an awful picture of determined 
will struggling with the mortal weakness of approach- 
ing dissolution. Never would she forget that sunken 
face, with its glittering eyes, so wild and so compel- 
ling. You are not able to write ! ” she cried. “ You 
must not attempt such an exertion, — the doctor 
would not allow it.” 

Mr. Darracote fixed his glance on her with a 
terrible frown. 

“You are not a fool,” he exclaimed, “whatever 
else you may be ! Do as I tell you. There are pen 
and paper on that desk — bring them here ! ” 

It was impossible to disobey him. The sovereign 
power of the mind, absolutely unclouded, and the 
dominating force of the character asserted themselves, 
despite the body’s weakness, in this hour of death, as 
they had asserted themselves throughout his life; 
gaining his desire for him now, as they had gained 
every other object on which he had ever set the 
masterful strength of purpose which marked him out 
among men. 

Mrs. Treherne brought from the open desk, where 
Mr. Kirby had drawn up the codicil of the will, a 
blotter on which lay a sheet of paper and a fountain- 
pen. Mr. Darracote seized the pen ; and, while she 
52 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


held the blotter steady on his knees, began to write. 
What writing it was ! Hieroglyphics rather than 
characters, which straggled in crooked lines across 
the white page; but the man who was putting the 
very last energy of his life into this effort paid no 
heed to the possible illegibility of what he produced. 
On he wrote, panting presently from exhaustion, as 
one who running a race finds his strength leaving him 
before the end is reached. Great drops of sweat 
stood out upon his brow; his shaking hand could 
hardly form a letter ; but still he persevered, still he 
wrote, until the page was nearly full of the scrawling, 
irregular writing. Then he suddenly paused and 
looked up into the pale face of the woman beside 
him. 

“ Now I am going to sign it,” he said hoarsely. 
“ If you are ever called upon, you can testify that 
you saw me do it — that I wrote it all with my own 
hand.” 

She made an inarticulate murmur of assent; for 
by this time consternation had too entirely taken 
possession of her to admit of speech. What did it 
all mean? What was he doing? As one fascinated, 
her eyes followed the trembling hand as it made for 
the last time the familiar signature — “ Richard Dar- 
racote.” The next instant the pen dropped from the 
fingers, the head fell forward on the breast, the eyes 
closed, — the strength which the imperious will had 
commanded for its service failed the moment that 
service was done. 

Mrs. Treherne did not cry out or ring the bell, or 
do anything else which an agitated woman in such 
a situation would have done. Quiet self-posse.ssion 
53 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and a sense of perfect command of the situation 
instantly came to her. She drew the paper from 
under the nerveless hand which had fallen on it, and 
deliberately read it from beginning to end. 

Five minutes later the nurse, waiting in the room 
across the corridor, heard herself sharply called, and 
hastened at once to the sick-chamber. Mrs. Tre- 
herne, attempting to support an unconscious man, 
looked at her with a very frightened expression. 

“ He asked me to raise him, nurse,” she cried. 
** He wanted to be ready for some exertion when — 
when Mr. Hastings came. But as I lifted him he 
fainted.” 

The nurse came up to the side of the bed, and, 
taking the insensible figure in her capable arms, laid 
it back on the pillows. A strange calm and dignity 
had settled on the sunken face which a few moments 
before had' been so full of stress and pain. She felt 
the pulse, she put her ear to the heart, she listened 
for the breath that would never stir the pale lips 
again. Then she looked at Mrs. Treherne, and from 
her to Hastings, who at that instant hurriedly entered 
the room. 

“ Mr. Darracote has not fainted,” she said gravely. 
“He is dead!” 

It was even so. In the very act of repairing injus- 
tice the soul had passed to the bar of the great and 
final Justice. 


54 


BOOK II 

DWELLERS IN BOHEMIA 


I 

O H, the roses, Margherita ! — I 7nust have a few 
roses ! ” 

Eh^ poveretta ! I know how you love them. But 
see ! — there are only two francs in my purse, and 
the vegetables for dinner yet to buy.” 

The first speaker drew a deep breath, such as a 
child draws when some eagerly coveted pleasure is 
denied it, and looked wistfully at the fragrant masses 
of crimson, pink, and golden roses that covered the 
florist’s stall before which she had paused. Then, 
shaking her head with a little gesture of renunciation 
as the vender held up a glowing cluster, she walked 
on by the side of her companion. 

They presented a great contrast as they passed 
together along the shaded street of the ancient town 
of Passy, now a suburb of Paris. The coveter of the 
roses was a tall slender girl with an extraordinary 
erectness and grace of figure and a face of striking 
beauty, dark, delicate, brilliant, full of possibilities of 
joy and sorrow, — a type such as artists appreciate 
and adore and the rest of the world admires without 
always appreciating. It was an Italian head, with all 
the picturesqueness of the South, with masses of 
55 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


black curling hair breaking into little rings and ten- 
drils like a dusky halo about the ivory-tinted brow 
and cheeks, and with something so singularly sweet 
in the dark, liquid eyes that to see the countenance 
even in a passing glance was to feel the spell of its 
fascination. 

The woman who walked beside this charming 
creature was even more Italian in aspect, yet as pro- 
saic as she was poetical ; a woman of the peasant class, 
short, broad, with a strong-featured, swarthy face, on 
which honesty, fidelity, and affection were as plainly 
to be read as on the countenance of a noble doe. 

o 

That she had the defects as well as the virtues of her 
class and temperament those who came in contact 
with her in certain relations soon discovered, — chiefly 
fellow-servants, with whom she never agreed, and 
tradesmen whom she screwed down to the last penny. 
Even her master saw at times the flash of a hot 
temper ; but to the girl at her side, the motherless 
child of her dead young mistress, she had never been 
anything but most devoted and most faithful as nurse, 
companion, and friend. 

While they walked on, the girl continued speaking, 

her language the sweet Tuscan tongue in which 
the two always talked. 

“ If I am ever rich,” she declared, “ I will have 
quantities of flowers, — flowers all the time, flowers 
everywhere, — you may be sure of that, Margherita.” 

“And why not if you like?” replied Margherita. 
“ It will not be flowers only, but many other things 
that you can have when you are rich, Signorina Irma, 
for rich you will surely be some day.” 

Irma Darracote smiled. 

56 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ It is pleasant to hear you prophesy with so much 
assurance,” she said; “but I really don’t see that 
there is the faintest prospect of anything of the kind. 
And, except that I might smother myself in roses, I 
should not care about it ; while papa would not care 
at all. He thinks it almost a crime to have a great 
deal of money when there are so many people that 
have none.” 

Margherita sniffed. 

“ The signor might change his mind if he were 
tried,” she said dryly. “We are all given what is 
best for us, and only the blessed saints have a right 
to throw away the gifts of the good God.” 

The girl smiled again. 

“ He is not likely to be tried,” she said. “And I 
am not likely to have all the roses I want so long as 
vegetables must be bought, — see, Margherita, there 
is some fine lettuce, such as you need for your salad ! ” 

The lettuce and some other vegetables were, after 
much chaffering, added to the contents of the basket 
on Margherita’s arm. Then the two turned home- 
ward; for, although the summer morning yet held 
some freshness, there was a promise of intense heat 
in the haze which overhung the hills beyond the Seine 
on one side and the great mass of Paris on the other. 

Passing by many walled lawns and gardens, at the 
open gates of which now and again white-capped 
servants stood conversing with friends or neighbors, 
they presently reached a very quiet street, hardly, 
indeed, more than a bowery lane, lined chiefly by 
walls bounding the rear of the grounds of large villas, 
and came finally to a rambling, old-fashioned house, 
a relic of the days when Paris had been miles distant 
57 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

from this pleasant country village lying amidst its 
trees. Some of these trees grew tall and stately on 
the small, neglected lawn before the house; and about 
the whole place there was a semi-rural air, an absolute 
absence of pretension, a cheerful shabbiness • as far 
removed from squalor as from any suggestion of 
luxury, which seemed to indicate that it belonged to 
the mythical yet very real and widely differing region 
of Bohemia. 

A gate in the green wall of enclosure stood partly 
open; and, muttering something, not of a compli- 
mentary nature, about the facteuVy Margherita closed 
it carefully after they entered. Then she followed her 
young mistress to the house, where they separated, 
one going to the kitchen, the other passing along the 
hall, which ran through the dwelling, to an addition 
made in the rear, — evidently, from its form and sky- 
light, an artist’s studio. 

Opening 'the door of this without ceremony, she 
entered a long, bare room, more like a workshop than 
the studios to which modern eyes are accustomed. 
But that it was a studio in the true sense a number of 
clay models and casts, together with sculptor’s work 
of various kinds and in various stages of progress, 
attested. Ornaments there were none, unless a num- 
ber of charcoal studies pinned on the walls could be 
so considered. And of beauty, abstract beauty, in 
the work exhibited, there was very little. F'orce, 
strength, fidelity to nature, there was much; but 
hardly a suggestion of the antique grace, the antique 
harmony and repose, which to express was once held 
to be the chief end of art. A glance would have told 
the veriest stranger that everything here was the work 
53 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


of one of the modern reactionists against ancient ideals 
and standards. 

With a solitary exception ; for in the centre of the 
room, near the model’s platform, stood an unfinished 
study in clay, — ■ a nymph-like figure of exquisite 
grace. Light, delicately radiant and joyous, it ap- 
peared to rest upon the earth not from the compul- 
sion of matter but from pure choice, as if the arching, 
springing feet might leave it at any instant and follow 
the butterfly which was in the act of fluttering upward 
from the extended hand. There was no need of this 
butterfly to say that the nymph was Psyche, loveliest 
of heathen myths; for the poetic beauty, the virginal 
grace, the ineffable joyousness, could belong to no 
other. It was Psyche, — eternal type of the human 
soul before love has taught and suffering tamed it. 

And standing before the figure, regarding it with a 
critical air, was its creator, — a tall man in working 
blouse, pipe in mouth, and a black velvet cap on a 
striking head. At sound of the opening door he 
turned, showing a face which, though not handsome 
in the ordinary sense of the term, was full of char- 
acter and interest; for the great sculptors. Time and 
Thought, had been at work, chiselling into harmony 
much that was irregular and even rugged until the 
forceful countenance had become attractive in the 
highest degree. It was a face which a painter would 
have loved to put upon his canvas with deep Rem- 
brandt tints : the strong features, the sun-tanned 
skin, the gray curling hair and full gray beard; 
while deep-set, under overhanging -brows, were the 
dreamer’s eyes of clear, limpid blue, — such eyes as 
are never seen except in the face of a little child, or 
59 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

one who has kept the heart of a child amid all the 
disillusions of life. 

“Am I late, papa?” the girl inquired quickly — 
and now she spoke in English. “ I hope you have 
not been waiting for me. Shall I give you a sitting? ” 

“ Not this morning, I think, my dear,” the sculptor 
answered. “ I do not feel much in the humor for 
work. I have just been considering this figure. I 
am afraid it is entirely too pretty.” 

“ For me^ papa? ” 

“ Oh, no — not for you ! As a matter of fact, it is 
not so pretty as you are. But for art.” 

She laughed. 

“ But, you know, you always preach that art must 
represent nature, no matter how ugly it may be; 
why, then, should it not represent nature when it is 
— well, pretty?” 

“ Because prettiness in art is an abhorrent thing. 
How often must I tell you that to represent beauty is 
not the end of art, — that it is beneath true art, which 
must seize and represent character? ” 

“ And why may not character have a beautiful 
expression? You admire it when you find it in 
reality, why not admire it in art?” 

“ I'n art it is generally weak, trivial, unworthy of 
representation.” 

“But the Greeks, papa — ” 

He put out his hand and pinched her ear. 

“ There, there ! — spare me the Greeks. I see how 
it is. You are in love with your likeness here. And 
I confess ” — he regarded it with a tenderness which 
seemed to triumph over disapproval — “it is a 
charming thing of its kind. One doesn’t often 
6o 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


succeed in expressing exactly what one wished to 
express. What I wanted to embody was the con- 
ception of the soul, — not a modern conception, but 
that of the ancients: the conception of a free, joyous, 
untamed thing : Psyche before she knew Eros. And, 
as far as one can judge of one’s own work, I feel that 
I have succeeded — thanks to you, my dear ! ” 

Am I really like that, papa? Haven’t you 
idealized me?” 

“ Not in the least. It is doubly yourself, because 
you have not only served as a model for the statue, 
but you gave me the suggestion. There you see 
yourself as you are now — and as you will never be 
again after the tyrant of human life has laid his hand 
upon you.” 

The voice had a slightly sad inflection, for all its 
lightness, as he uttered the last words ; and the girl’s 
sensitive ear catching it, she remained silent for a 
moment, gazing at the lovely grace of the creation 
before her — the nymph with head upturned toward 
the sky, with outstretched arms, with fluttering 
drapery and springing feet, as if in the act of seek- 
ing something beyond the earth. Presently she 
spoke : 

And if this is Psyche before she knew Eros, how 
would you represent her afterward?” 

The sculptor took a handful of clay from a moist 
heap near the statue and began to work a little about 
the drapery. 

‘'The Greeks have told you,” he said after a 
moment. “ You know how she is represented — 
harnessed to his car.” 

It might have been Psyche herself — before she 

6i 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


met the compelling god of Love — who threw back 
her graceful head. 

“ But / will never be harnessed ! ” cried the young 
voice. 

Her father glanced at her with a half-mocking smile. 

So Psyche may have declared,” he said ; “ but 
had she persisted in refusal, she would have missed 
much. The Greeks were heathens, but they grasped 
a great truth, — that the human soul must learn 
through love, and that love means suffering.” 

“ Always^ papa? ” 

Always, my Psyche. Who has not loved has 
not lived, and who has not suffered has not loved. It 
is a hard law, but there is no escape from it.” 

“ There might be, perhaps, if one were wise,” the 
girl murmured as if to herself. 

But her father shook his head. 

“ No,” he answered quickly, “ there is no escape.” 
And then she heard him repeating in a low tone some 
lines from the Vita Nuova.” 

There fell another brief silence, while the girl stood 
observing his deft fingers moulding the plastic clay 
into shape, even as the great force of which he had 
spoken moulds and forms human character. Possibly 
some such thought was in her mind as she watched 
the work, pleasantly conscious the while of the re- 
freshing coolness of the large bare room, with its 
lofty ceiling, its evenly diffused light, and the sound 
of water dripping from the statue to the floor. But 
when, after a few moments, she spoke again it was in 
a different tone : 

“ The facteur has been here, has he not? Did he 
leave no letters?” 


62 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Oh, yes 1 ” her father replied, with a start of 
recollection. “ There are two or three. You will 
find them on that table. None are of any importance 
except one — that with an American stamp. Read 
it.” 

The girl walked over to the table, opened and read 
the letter indicated. Then she turned with it in her 
hand. 

“ Why, papa,” — and her voice was full of surprise 
— this is from some one I never heard of before. 
Richard Darracote ! Who is he?” 

“ My cousin — the nearest relative I have living,” 
her father responded. It has been many years — 
Heaven only knows how many — since I heard of or 
from him before.” 

So he says ; yet he writes as if you had once 
known each other very well.” 

“ As well as most brothers. In our early youth 
we were closely associated ; but we were always very 
different in our tastes and inclinations, so in life we 
have drifted far apart.” 

“ Tell me something about him. Why have you 
never mentioned him before?” 

“ Because I have never thought of him, I suppose. 
We were never sympathetic. How he used to sneer 
at my fancies, and how I despised his ! Well, he has 
been a very successful man in his line — that is, he 
has accumulated, I believe, a great deal of money, 
while I have not been successful in mine. But I 
would no more change with him now than I would 
have changed in our boyhood, when I scorned him 
for what seemed to me his sordid, commonplace 
ambitions. One good thing about such ambitions, 

63 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


however, is that they may be realized. It requires 
only some perseverance to grub successfully in 
the earth. To climb to the stars is another matter. 
And yet some of us are fools enough to hope to 
accomplish it.” 

His daughter was accustomed to the tone in which 
he uttered these words, — a tone at once mournful and 
philosophic, but without a trace of bitterness. His 
sincerity it was impossible to doubt* One of those 
who try to climb to the stars Gilbert Darracote had 
indeed ever been: one who never surrendered an 
ideal, never made any of the compromises with life 
which most of us are constantly making; never 
sought to please or flatter that modern substitute for 
ancient tyrants, the public fancy; had not in him a 
single element of the time-server ; and hence, with his 
undoubted, genius, he remained unsuccessful and 
unknown, while men of lesser gifts basked in the full 
light of fame and fortune. 

“ He speaks of an old debt which he would like to 
pay,” said Irma, her eyes returning to the letter in 
her hand. What does he mean by that? ” 

“ He means a debt which he does not owe to me 
but to' the dead,” Darracote answered. “I have not 
the least desire that he should remember or pay it. 
It is not a debt which money cau pay — and he is 
thinking of money. How impossible it is for a man 
who has spent his life in the pursuit of pelf to com- 
prehend and believe that another man may honestly 
despise it ! ” 

“ And yet money is not a bad thing,” Irma ven- 
tured to suggest, a vision of fragrant, glowing roses 
Vising before her. 


64 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Her father looked at her with a smile. 

No, daughter of Eve,” he replied, “ it is not bad, 
if one can keep the love of it out of one’s soul, and 
the soil of it off one’s hands, and use it only for good 
and unselfish ends. But this is hard to do, — so 
hard that you know what we are told about the camel 
and the eye of the needle.” 

“ But that does not mean that a rich man cannot 
possibly enter the kingdom of heaven, papa ! ” 

“ No, it does not mean that it is impossible for 
him to do so, but only difficult — so difficult that he 
who is wise will not voluntarily take the risk.” 

“ And yet people are not only willing but eager to 
take it ! ” 

Gilbert Darracote nodded. 

“Very eager,” he assented dryly; “so eager that 
they betray their best friends, stain their honor, and 
darken their souls in order to take it.” 

“Then, papa, if it were offered to you, — if, for 
instance, this rich cousin of yours who says that he 
owes you a debt were to leave you some money, 
would you refuse to take it? ” 

“ That rich cousin of mine is only a year or two 
older than I am — ” 

“ But he speaks of ill health in this letter. I sup- 
pose he would not mention death for the world ; but 
it seems to me that is what he implies, that is why he 
is so anxious to hear from you, and if it is possible to 
see you.” 

“ Well, if he were to die — poor old chap, I hope 
he will not; for truly death is bitter to a rich man ! 
and if he were to leave me a little money in acknowl- 
edgment of my father’s kindness to him, I should 

"" 5 ^5 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


not feel that I had a right to refuse it for your sake, 
my dear. But there ’s nothing less likely than that 
he has anything of the kind in his mind. So build no 
castles in Spain, but run now and put on your Greek 
costume. I find that I can’t manage without a sitting, 
after all.” 


II 

“T AM sorry,” said Darracote, ^‘but I cannot 
i possibly accept the offer.” 

The words were so unexpected that the group of 
listeners were struck fora moment into silence, and 
each showed astonishment in a different manner. 

Xavier Dufresne, a middle-aged painter, famous 
as a leader of the most extreme school of modern 
art, — to whom' years brought no crystallization of 
thought or methods, but whose latest Salon picture 
was always a little more startling, a little more 
provocative of criticism and discussion than the one 
of the year before, — lifted his eyebrows and sat back 
in his chair, staring at his friend. Ralph Norbert, 
a young American, who, as a consequence of spring- 
ing from the newest, least artistic of modern peoples, 
had violently recoiled toward all that was oldest and 
most spiritual in art, stopped in the act of rolling a 
cigarette and looked interrogatively at Irma. She, 
after a moment’s pause of surprise, flung herself, as 
it were, on her father. 

Papa ! ” she exclaimed remonstrantly. What 
do you mean ? It is n’t possible that you will refuse 
such an opportunity — such a tribute! ” 

66 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Her father glanced at her with a smile. There 
was something else, something sad, in his expres- 
sion, which struck Dufresne’s observant eye. 

“My experience of life,” he said, “is not, I sup- 
pose, very different from that of others. We are 
told that it is of common occurrence that the thing 
one desires, that one toils and hopes for through 
years of effort, comes at last too late — when it comes 
at all. This is the case with me at present. The 
opportunity I should have welcomed a little earlier 
comes now too late; I cannot use it.” 

“ But why not — why not ? ” Irma demanded in- 
sistently, while the two artists looked their echo of 
her question. 

Gilbert Darracote’s glance swept them all with a 
recognition of their surprise, and then dwelt again 
on Irma’s face. 

“Well, for one thing,” he said, as if with a sud- 
den inspiration, “ because I cannot afford to neglect 
the summons in that letter which I received the 
other day — because I must accept my cousin’s invi- 
tation and take you to America.” 

“ Papa ! ” (It was absolute indignation in her voice 
now.) “How can you put me off with such an ex- 
cuse, such a jest as that.? ” 

“It is not a jest,” he replied gravely. “I mean 
what I say.” 

“But it is impossible!” the girl cried incredu- 
lously. “It is impossible you can seriously mean 
that you will refuse a great artistic opportunity in 
order to accept an invitation which, if it offers any- 
thing at all, offers only money! You cannot expect 
me to believe that ! ” 


67 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Darracote looked at his friend, the middle-aged 
painter, who was watching him with such keen eyes, 
and shrugged his shoulders, laughing. 

It is an inconvenient thing to have a reputation 
for consistency,” he said. “When one wishes to 
assert one’s common human right to do an incon- 
sistent thing, one excites only astonishment and 
incredulity. ” 

“That is all, nion answered Dufresne. 

“We are astonished, and, like Mademoiselle Irma, 
we are incredulous. We cannot believe that you 
will refuse this, which she has truly called a great 
opportunity for proving the power which you possess 
and winning the fame which should be yours; and 
still less can we believe that you will refuse it in 
'order to secure some money.” 

“ But if it is true? ” 

“Ah!” (It \Vas the turn of the painter to shrug 
his shoulders.) “If it is true, there is no more to 
be said, except that indeed one does not know 
anybody.” 

“And there is nothing more true than that,” said 
Darracote, simply. 

After which silence fell. It was evening, and 
they were sitting on the lawn under the trees in a 
golden sunset, — dinner over, a table in the midst of 
the circle of chairs bearing' coffee, liqueurs, cigars. 
It was a pleasant and familiar scene; for there were 
few evenings when there was not such a group gath- 
ered here, — when two or three of Gilbert Darra- 
cote’s friends, all of them men in the full tide of 
artistic and intellectual life, did not find it agreeable 
to come out from the boulevards to this quiet Passy 
68 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


house, and smoke a pipe or two on the lawn or in 
the studio, while discussing all the topics which 
filled the keen, throbbing, quick-living world of 
Paris. Darracote, who had spent his life in this 
world, was as much one of themselves as if his eyes 
had not opened under an alien sky ; and there was no 
one of them, not the most brilliant and successful, 
who did not admire, respect, and in a certain sense 
love, this quiet, modest, self-contained man, with 
his comparatively unrecognized genius and his 
dreamer’s soul. 

To-day Xavier Dufresne had come with great 
tidings. He had heard — privately, but through an 
authoritative source — that a literary society but 
little less exalted than the august Academy had 
decided to place with Darracote the order for a 
statue of one of its members — a great poet, lately 
dead. The order was in itself the highest possible 
compliment, especially when paid to a foreigner; 
and the notice, the reputation, the “advertising” 
— so dear, alas! even to the artist in the modern 
world — resulting from it would be enormous. 
Dufresne confided his news and his pleasure to 
Norbert, whom he had met in the Passy omnibus, 
bound to the same house with himself. They re- 
joiced over it together, agreed that it would bring a 
rush of fame and prosperity to one who had been too 
long denied his just meed of both; and, with the 
sense of agreeable elation which accompanies the 
consciousness of bearing good tidings, entered on the 
familiar lawn where Gilbert Darracote and his daugh- 
ter, sitting together under the trees, — he placidly 
smoking, she reading aloud, — greeted them warmly. 

69 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


And then had come the disappointment of his 
reply, — that astonishing reply for which they had 
been so wholly unprepared. That he could enter- 
tain the thought of refusing this great, this flattering 
opportunity had not entered their minds as a possi- 
bility. But now it appeared that what did not occur 
to him as a possibility was the thought of accept- 
ing it. 

In the silence which followed his last words, the 
two artists merely glanced at each other; but Irma, 
who caught the glance, suddenly felt that she could 
not remain quiet; that, since it was impossible to 
seize her father at present and compel him to tell 
her what he really meant by such dark sayings, she 
must go away. She could not sit still and see his 
friends do him the injustice of believing him. So 
she rose and went toward the house. Norbert, with 
a quick movement, sprang to his feet and followed 
her. The two elder men watched them for a 
moment as they moved across the lawn; then Du- 
fresne’s eyes turned again to his companion. 

*‘And now, my friend,” he remarked, ‘Tor the 
mot de V enigmed' 

Darracote smiled. 

“So you are like Irma,” he said; “you positively 
refuse to believe me } ” 

“ It does not sound very well, I admit ; but, as a 
matter of fact, it is true,” tlie other coolly replied. 
“I do not for an instant believe that if you really 
intend to refuse this order, you will refuse it for the 
reason you have given.” 

“And yet,” said Darracote, with a gravity not to 
•be misunderstood, “that reason is literally true.” 

70 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


‘‘Literally true!” Dufresne repeated thought- 
fully. “ Well, perhaps so, — many things are ‘ liter- 
ally ’ true which in spirit are untruths. And when 
it comes to a question of which to believe, the testi- 
mony of a man’s lips or the testimony of his whole 
life, I, for one, never hesitate. It is the testimony 
of the latter which I regard. And that is so far 
against you, mon ami, that further evasions are use- 
less. You will never convince anybody who has 
known you so long as I have, — and, despite what 
we agreed upon a moment ago, there is such a thing 
as knowing a man, though he may now and then 
startle us by proving that we don’t know all of him, 
— you will never, I say, convince me that you are 
giving up a great artistic opportunity for the sake of 
gaining money in any degree. ” 

A pause followed, in which Darracote smoked, 
and, with his clear blue eyes fastened on some green 
masses of foliage in front of him, seemed to reflect; 
then, with the air of one who has taken a sudden 
resolution, he looked at Dufresne. 

“After all, there is no reason why I should not 
tell you the real as well as the literal truth,” he 
said. “ I am only anxious that Irma shall not sus- 
pect it. I cannot accept this order because it comes 
too late in every sense, but especially in the sense 
that I have but a short span of life left; and in that 
span I must, for the first time, think of material 
things — of the money which I have always despised. 
Perhaps I have made a mistake in despising it, in 
scorning many means by which I might have ac- 
quired it; but, however that may be, I cannot afford 
to despise it now for her" — he looked after his 

71 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


daughter’s vanishing form. “I cannot neglect any 
opportunity to provide for her future. And such an 
opportunity came to-day in the letter of which you 
heard me speak to her.” 

Dufresne, now as deeply shocked as he had been 
astonished before, showed his emotion to a degree 
which would have amazed those who knew only the 
cool, cynical surface which he displayed to the 
world. He leaned forward, with agitation and dis- 
tress in every line of his face. 

“ What are you talking about ” he asked. “ How 
can you possibly know such a thing as this? ” 

I have known it, or at least I have suspected it, 
for some time past, by certain admonitions which 
nature gives,” Darracote answered calmly; “but 
lately I have had also the verdict of science. I went 

to see R the other day ” (he named a great 

specialist), “and he tells me I have organic disease 
of the heart, so advanced that I may die at any time 
and cannot possibly live very much longer. There- 
fore, instead of accepting orders for statues with a 
view to future fame, I am going to take Irma to 
America to a relative who has suddenly remembered 
my existence, and who is, I believe, very rich.” 

Again silence fell, — silence in which the two men 
looked at each other, and then what he saw in the 
face of the listener made Darracote suddenly extend 
his hand. 

“Thanks, old friend!” he said. “It is good of 
you to feel it so much.” 

Dufresne gave a wringing pressure to the hand, 
and then, rising abruptly, walked away a few steps. 
He was indeed astonished at the strength of his 
72 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

own feeling. Had this been foretold to him, he 
could never have believed that he would be so deeply 
affected by the shadow of final parting which hung 
over this friendship of years. In truth, he had a 
sudden comprehension of the great differences which 
lie in character, and which give a charm to some 
human associations far deeper, far more lasting, 
than can be accounted for by anything which is to 
be seen on the surface. 

Presently he came back with his composure re- 
stored, and, sitting down, lighted a cigar with a 
hand which shook slightly. 

“Your confidence is sacred to me,” he said. 
“But let me remind you that even the greatest spe- 
cialists sometimes make mistakes. The case may 

not be so bad as R thinks. Many a man has 

lived for years after the doctors have read his death- 
warrant. ” 

Darracote tapped his left side significantly. 

“There is something here which tells me that no 
mistake has been made; and some day — quite soon, 

I think — a cold hand which has already clutched 
this heart many times will seize it once for all; and 
then — well, then I shall know the great Secret. 
Meanwhile the Society of Letters and Art must find 
another sculptor to fill its order.” 

“Well, at least they shall offer you the order,” 
said Dufresne, decidedly. “That will be a recogni- 
tion of your ability — a late tribute, but your due.” 

Darracote made an indifferent motion with his 
pipe. 

“ Why give them that trouble ? ” he said care- 
lessly. “ Better let them know that I cannot take it. ” 
73 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

*‘No,” persisted Dufresne. “You shall have that 
triumph at least, and I will see that the journals 
know of it. But must you really go to America 
to the hard, practical, mercenary atmosphere you 
have so often described to me ? My dear friend, if 
you and the doctors are right, stay here in Paris, — 
stay and die where you have loved best to INe.”^ 

“And so I would,” replied Darracote, “if I 
might. But, you see, I am thinking of the child. 
She is so young — and so beautiful. Over here, 
without fortune, she would have no position. But 
at home the name of Darracote means something, 
and my cousin has gilded it afresh with wealth. 
He writes to me with strange kindness, considering 
.that for years we have heard nothing of each other; 
begs me to come to see him; reminds me of an old 
debt of kindness which he owed to my father; speaks 
of wishing to know Irma. And for her sake I 
must go.” 

“For her sake,” Dufresne admitted, “perhaps it 
is best. But for your own sake I wish that you 
could remain.” 

The other looked up at the green boughs, interlac- 
ing against the misty blue of the tender sky of 
France, which he loved so well. 

“For my own sake,” he, said wistfully, “I wish 
that I could.” 


74 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


III 

M eanwhile Irma, hearing the quick step 
behind her, had paused and looked around 
as Norbert, coming up, said, with some hesitation : 

hope you don’t mind my following you? I — 
I want to ask how the Psyche is getting on.” 

“The Psyche?” the girl repeated, half absently. 
“ Oh, very well ! Would you like to see it? ” 

“Very much indeed — if I may.” 

“ Then we will go to the studio, for of course you 
may. ” 

“ But you were going — ” 

“Nowhere in particular. I came away because I 
cannot understand why papa should talk as he did. 
Asking an explanation seemed of no use — at least 
at present. When we are alone I will make him tell 
me what he really means. It is impossible, you 
know,” — she faced the young man with her brows 
knitted into a frown, — “that he really intends to 
refuse this order ! ” 

“It ought to be impossible,” Norbert agreed. 
“But he spoke very positively.” 

“It is impossible!” the girl repeated with vehe- 
mence. “ I know that he has not much ambition, 
that he does not care in the least whether or not the 
world recognizes his genius, but he has no right to 
reject such a tribute as this when it comes at last.” 

“One can’t but find it strange that he should 
think of doing so,” said Norbert. “The excuse 
about a letter and going to America — ” 

75 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Is absurd ! ” Irma broke in. That letter is from 
some one of whom I never heard before, — a cousin 
of ours, — a man who is very rich ; who asks us to 
visit him, and intimates that it will be to our advan- 
tage, as the advertisements say, to do so. But when 
papa received the letter he spoke very lightly of it, 
and apparently thought no more of going to America 
than of going to Africa. Yet 7iow he makes it an 
excuse for refusing a great artistic opportunity ! It 
is only an excuse — I am sure of that; but why does 
he make it } That is what I cannot understand. ” 

Norbert could not help her to understand it. 
Without the mot de F enigme of which Monsieur 
Dufresne had spoken, it was indeed impossible to 
understand. 

‘‘You will have to wait for the explanation, which 
your father will, no doubt give you,” he said. 

“But why should any explanation be necessary.^ ” 
the girl cried impatiently. “ And why should papa 
do himself such injustice as to talk so ? Oh, it is 
intolerable ! I feel as if I must go back and force 
him to tell us what he really means.” 

“No, no!” said Norbert, hastily, who had no 
mind to resign his opportunity, whatever Mr. Dar- 
racote might choose to do with that offered him. “ I 
am sure your first impulse is better. Wait until 
you can speak to him alone. At present, you know 
you have promised to show me the Psyche.” 

“I hope it is not too late for you to see it,” she 
said, as they entered the house and passed through 
to the atelier. 

But when she opened the door, by contrast with 
the dusky passage, the large room seemed filled 
76 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


with light. Not only did the great north window 
still admit a flood of it, but some radiant, floating 
clouds — last fragments of the sunset’s glory — cast 
through the skylight a marvellous glow upon the 
figure just beneath it. 

And that figure! As he saw it in this fairy 
radiance, Norbert fairly caught his breath, so ex- 
quisitely aerial and graceful did it appear. He 
walked forward and paused in silence. Impossible 
for words to express the admiration roused by a 
thing so beautiful, so full of buoyant life, that it 
seemed as if it must have been the direct crea- 
tion of God rather than of the mere genius of 
man. 

doesn’t appear to be matter at all, but incar- 
nate spirit,” he said presently. ‘Ht is as if it had 
only rested for an instant on the earth and were about 
to spring upward before one’s eyes.” 

It is marvellous how strongly that impression 
is conveyed,” said Irma. '‘The longer one looks 
at the figure the more one is surprised that it lingers 
in its upward flight. I don’t believe there ever 
could have been a more perfect embodiment of 
Psyche, as the Greeks dreamed of her. And I don’t 
think so,” she added, smiling, “because I had the 
small part in it of serving as the model.” 

“It was not a small part,” said Nprbert. “This 
is as perfect a representation of yourself as it is a 
perfect embodiment of Psyche.” 

“ Nonsense 1 ” she laughed. “ There is a likeness, 
of course, but what we admire and marvel at — the 
wonderful spivit — came from no model. It was 
given by that power of genius which is so divine 
77 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


that it makes one think of the creative power of 
God.” 

“That,” said the young man, “is true. But you 
are mistaken if you think that it is not a repre- 
sentation of yourself in spirit, as well as in the 
physical likeness. One has only to look at you to 
perceive it.” 

He suited action to words by turning to look at 
her, as she stood in the sunset light by the side of 
the statue where all the fugitive charm of her 
youth and beauty had been fixed by a master hand. 
And as he did so, he saw, as only an artist could 
see, how identical were* the graceful lines of the 
form, the charming contour of the features, but he 
also saw that the likeness lay deeper than these 
things. The artist soul, as well as the artist eye, 
comprehended that as the joyous, upturned face 
of the nymph expressed all that was possible to the 
human soul before it had met the great Teacher, — 
Pscyhe before she had loved and suffered, — so in 
the living girl there was a spirit, fine, delicate, full 
of aspiration, as yet unaroused to all the fateful 
potentialities of feeling and passion. 

“I don’t know whether your father meant it, or 
not,” he went on; “but he has succeeded in pro- 
ducing an ideal Psyche simply because he has 
perfectly presented you.” 

If Irma remembered that her father had said the 
same thing, she was very far from acknowledging it. 

“My father’s genius does not need such assist- 
ance,” she said; “and if it did, what have I in com.- 
mon with the ideal Psyche } ” 

“Everything,” the young man answered boldly. 
78 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ For what is Pscyhe but the human soul — exqui- 
site, enchanting, yet not wakened to its full powers 
by the knowledge of love ? " 

The girl drew herself up quickly. 

*'If Psyche were wise, she would never wish to 
be awakened to that knowledge,” she said coldly, 
‘Tor it means bondage.” 

“No,” Norbert protested, without pausing to point 
out how thoroughly this expression of sentiment 
sustained his opinion, “it means growth, develop- 
ment. What would Psyche be if she never advanced 
beyond that stage } ” and he pointed to the statue. 

“Free and happy,” Irma returned unhesitatingly. 
“She is incarnate joyousness, as one sees her there; 
but think how the Greeks — who knew everything — 
represented her after she met Eros! ” 

“Love is master of us all when he comes,” Nor- 
bert said ; “ and if he brings pain and even bondage, 
— why, they are a pain and a bondage one would not 
be without.” 

Irma shrugged her shoulders, and made even that 
ungraceful motion graceful as well as expressive. 

“Every one to his taste,” she said, “but it strikes 
me that pain and bondage are things one could very 
well do without.” 

“It is impossible!” Norbert exclaimed vehe- 
mently. “You cannot be so obtuse, so blind to 
everything best worth having and knowing in human 
life ! Are you really willing to remain ignorant of 
the depths of your own nature.? — never to give, 
never to receive the love — ” 

He stopped short, for Irma turned to him with a 
look such as he had never seen on her face before — 
79 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


a look of reproach, defiance, indignation, all blended 
together. 

^‘Why do you venture to make such a personal 
application of what we were saying?” she asked. 
“ We were not talking of what I might or might not 
feel — ” 

'‘We were talking of that and of nothing else,” 
he interrupted. “You know it as well as I. And 
you must know something else — that love is here, 
close beside you, begging that you will open your 
heart to him ; begging you to believe that he asks 
only to be your servant, your slave — ” 

“That he may end by being my master!” she 
cried. “No, no — yet again, no! I will never 
open my heart to him. Understand that once for 
all; and never speak to me in this manner again.” 

There was a moment’s pause. The evanescent 
sunset glow was fading, but in the gray light of 
the north window they could still clearly see each 
other — the pale young faces, confronting in the old 
duel between man and woman. Suddenly courage 
came to Norbert. He made a step forward and 
seized her unwilling hands. 

“Let us have done with foolish metaphors and 
talk plainly,” he said. “You know that I love you, 
— love you with a passion which I have no power to 
express. Do you mean that you will never open 
your heart to that love? ” 

He had not meant, nor would he have wished, to 
be piteous; but there was a piteous, piercing tone 
in his voice as he asked the question, which touched 
the girl with a sudden sense of what was involved 
in her answer, — a comprehension that she was face 
8o 



Suddenly courage came to Norbert,” 


f 







i 


I* 






i* 

• > 

* * 

. . 


« 





*• 

r 


I 


■« 


> 


0 


I 


t 





> • 


* 


•n 




‘i 


» 


t 


» 


i 

* . « 

t 

4 


I 


I 


» 

t 4 




i 



I 




1 

I 




I 

♦ 


1 


Ip* 





h 



I 


1 - 


% 












'» 


% 


9 


t ■ 




I 


> 


» 




.• 


« 











« 

.it 


A- 



i A 


I 


I 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

to face with a possibility of great suffering. She 
was so deeply startled that she forgot her indigna- 
tion, and a quick desire to avoid giving pain took 
possession of her. She attempted, therefore, what 
the inexperienced woman in such cases always at- 
tempts — to evade, to compromise. 

“ How can I tell ” she said. You have no right 
to ask me such questions.” 

I have the right of loving you — loving you ! ” he 
replied, emphasizing his words with a painful grasp 
of her hands. ‘‘Do you know what that means 
Have you the least — the very least — idea } ” 

Had she uttered her thoughts she would have 
answered, ''No, and I have no desire to know!” 
But stronger even than the impulse of impatience 
was the impulse not to give pain. So she expressed 
herself differently. 

"You are right in thinking that I am like the 
Psyche,” she said, with an attempt to take the con- 
versation back to its former plane. "I do not 
know. And I cannot say that I wish to know. So 
please don’t talk in this way any more. I like you 
so much. We have been such good friends and 
comrades. Pray don’t spoil our pleasant associa- 
tion by this — this — ” 

"Folly,” said he, supplying the word over which 
she hesitated. He dropped her hand and turned 
away. " If that is all it is to you I ” he said with a 
gesture of renunciation. 

And then — poor boy 1 he did not wish to be tragic, 
but it seemed inevitable — he dropped into a chair, 
folded his arms on the table beside it and let his 
head fall upon them. 

6 


8i 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

The girl stood still, looking at him, poignant re- 
gret and intense distaste visible in equal degree on 
her face. Why, she was asking, why would he insist 
upon making himself so disagreeable, and spoiling 
all their pleasant companionship? It was detest- 
able, and yet — the tears suddenly rose to her eyes. 
Never had she seen distress without compassionating 
it; and this distress was caused, however uncon- 
sciously, by herself. She hesitated an instant longer, 
and then laid her slender white hand on the dark 
shoulder. 

^‘I am very sorry,” she said gently. did not 
mean to be unkind; I would do anything sooner 
than give you so much pain. Surely you believe 
this! ” 

No answer. Possibly Norbert did not speak be- 
cause he could not trust his voice to do so; but the 
silence struck chill on Irma’s heart. It seemed 
full of resentment, alienation, pain. Had she in- 
deed lost her friend, — the friend who was more of a 
comrade to her youth than any other of those who 
made up her father’s circle; who had in some subtle 
way established himself more intimately; whose 
unspoken adoration had been, although she was not 
aware of it, like incense about her path ? She had 
heard of this masterful tyranny of love, which would 
have all or nothing, which disdained the lesser if it 
could not possess the greater; but this was the first 
time that its imperious demand had touched her life. 
She recoiled from it with something akin to indig- 
nation; and yet, the affectionate heart asked, how 
could she bear to lose her friend? Was there no 
middle way between refusing all and granting all 
82 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


that he asked? — no way of conciliating, pleasing, 
keeping him until he should forget this folly? 

“ Voyons ! ” she said at last, very softly and 
sweetly. Is it not possible to come to an under- 
standing, to arrange something? All this is new to 
me: no one ever talked to me of love before; and, 
frankly, I do not like it. But — will you be satis- 
fied if I promise to — to think of what you desire? ” 

He lifted his head; as he looked up and caught 
the expression on the lovely face bent over him, — 
an expression of exquisitely tender concern, — his 
heart gave a great leap. Who is not quick to be- 
lieve that which he desires ? And so he said to 
himself that surely this was the first faint dawning 
of love, this which he read in her face, and which 
was like balm to his wounded heart. Nevertheless 
pride and generosity forbade that he should snatch 
at what she offered. 

I am afraid you speak so only because you are 
sorry for me,” he said; “and that will not do. I 
am a fool — worse than a fool — to have no more self- 
control and to seem to appeal to your pity. Because 
you are sorry is no reason for promising anything. 
But if you could love me — even in the least degree 
— to begin with — ” 

What infinite appeal in the eyes and tone as he 
broke off! It might have moved one older, more 
experienced than the girl who stood before him with 
a troubled face. How could she answer? What did 
she know of the strange, complex feeling of which 
he spoke? Perhaps the reluctance to pain him, to 
see him go, was the love he asked ; and, if so, why 
not please him with the assurance of so much at least ? 

83 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Another moment and she might have given this 
assurance, might have pledged herself to far more 
than she comprehended ; but as she still stood look- 
ing at him in the dying light — troubled, uncertain, 
wavering — steps were heard outside; a hand 
touched, opened the door, and her father’s voice was 
heard : 

“ Come in ! I will soon make a light. I want you 
to see it.” 


IV 

“T^APA,” said Irma, thoughtfully, ‘‘what is called 
love is a strange and — not a pleasant thing.” 

Mr. Darracote started, and in his surprise almost 
dropped the pipe he was smoking, as, turning in his 
chair, he stared at his daughter. Their guests were 
gone, and they were alone in the studio: he sitting 
in an easy attitude, contemplating the Psyche of 
which Dufresne had been loud in praise, and Du- 
fresne’s praise, as he knew well, was always sincere 
and never readily evoked; while Irma, after flitting 
about with unusual restlessness, had finally paused 
near him, and broken a meditative silence with the 
remark recorded. 

It was a remark naturally startling to the ear of a 
parent who had not imagined that the speaker pos- 
sessed any more personal knowledge now of the 
subject of which she spoke than she had possessed 
in her childhood. To him she was still a child, to 
whom he might talk in his whimsical fashion of Eros 
and Psyche ; but whose serene maiden quietude, he 
84 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


had taken for granted, was to be unruffled by the 
faintest stirring of the wings of the god for many a 
day to come. 

“What on earth do you know about it?” he in- 
quired, in the first impulse of his surprise. 

She looked at him, meeting his startled gaze with- 
out the faintest trace of embarrassment, and laughed 
sweetly and gayly. 

“ More than I care to know, I assure you,” she 
answered. “For it is tiresome and stupid — yes, 
positively odious — when somebody whom you like 
very much is not satisfied with what ought to satisfy 
him, but wants something more, — something which 
you have no power to give him ; and says, like a 
spoiled child, that he must have that or nothing. 
And so you have to choose between losing your 
friend, or — or trying to give what you have not 
got.” 

“Oh! ” said Mr. Darracote. It was not difficult 
to grasp the meaning of this luminous statement. 
“ So somebody has been wanting something which 
you have no power to give him, and declares he 
must have that or nothing! Eh hieii! he must take 
nothing, then. That is all there is to be said.” 

“ But, papa, it is very unreasonable.” 

“Very,” he said dryly. “But reason has never 
been considered the strong point of lovers, my dear. 
And I presume that the plain meaning of all this is 
that some one has been making love to you? ” 

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose that is what you 
would call it.” 

“Norbert, of course?” 

“ Yes.” 

85 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Young ass ! He deserves to be kicked for his 
folly and presumption.” 

Never before had Irma heard such a tone of 
disgusted irritation from her father’s lips. It was 
her turn now to look surprised. 

“Why do you say that? ” she asked. “ It may be 
folly, but why presumption? ” 

“Why presumption?” repeated her father, in the 
same tone of unfamiliar irritation. “ Because, in the 
first place, he has no right to suppose that you would 
give him a thought; in the second place, he should 
not have ventured to address you as if you were a 
grisette ; and in the third place, what has he to offer 
you ? ” 

“ I suppose he thought — his heart,” said the girl, 
reflectively. 

“ His heart ! ” Mr. Darracote gave an angry laugh 
as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “That 
might serve for 2^ grisette ; but for you — well, I am 
to blame for keeping you here in this Bohemian at- 
mosphere, which is not the place for you, now that 
you are no longer a child. Perhaps it was not the 
place for you at any time, but you have not been un- 
happy in it, I think ; and I have been very happy in 
your companionship.” 

“Papa!” — a quick, impulsive arm was flung 
around his neck, ^ — “how dare you talk so? Not 
unhappy in it I As if there were, as if there could 
be, any other place for me in the world but this ! ” 

She laid her satin-soft cheek down on his brow, 
and he was silent for a moment, drinking in the 
sweetness of the caress. Then he put up his hand 
and patted the graceful young head, murmuring some 
36 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


of the tender Italian words which he had learned from 
her mother’s lips. 

“ But it is true, all the same, my darling ! ” he re- 
sumed, again in English, after a moment or two. 
“ We have been very happy in our Bohemia, I know 
that well ; but Bohemia is no place for you now. 
You have grown out of childhood — God forgive me 
that I forgot it ! — and I cannot have you continuing 
here, without any social life, or a woman to look after 
you ; subject to the off-hand love-making of any pen- 
niless art-student who falls in love with your beauty 
and dares to address you with no more ceremony — ” 

“ Papa, papa ! ” she laughed. Who could have 
guessed that you were such an aristocrat at heart ! 
Why, I thought we were genuine Bohemians, lovers 
of freedom, despisers of conventionality. I am sure I 
have heard you say so often enough. And now, one 
would fancy you were a prince ; and I, mademoiselle, 
your daughter, heiress of your marble halls, not to be 
approached by any suitor until he first laid his pre- 
tensions before your highness.” 

But her jesting could not win him to jesting in 
reply. 

“ I have been to blame,” he repeated. Because 
it was so delightful to have you always with me, I 
kept you in a life which might have sullied you ; and 
it is no thanks to me that it has not done so. It is 
no thanks to me that you are not in love with the 
young fool who ventured to express his passion to 
you this evening, or with some one worse — some 
rapm of the studios — ” 

He broke off, as if unable to face the possibilities 
which his words suggested ; while Irma listened with 

87 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


amazement to what was an unexpected revelation of 
character. For she could not have imagined in her 
father this pride, — not indeed for himself, but for her, 
— this valuing of social forms which she had sup- 
posed him to despise; and this aristocratic instinct 
so keenly alive, so ready to rise in arms on her behalf 
after a lifetime of Bohemian indifference to every- 
thing that such an instinct might be supposed to 
demand. It was her first experience of the paradox, 
the contradiction, the complexity, to be found more 
or less in all character, but especially in that which 
possesses the strange and puzzling artistic quality. 

“ But,” she said presently, — still perched on the 
arms of his chair, and with her head bent down to his 
so that the dark and silvery curls mingled, — “I 
think you are very much too hard on yourself, and I 
am not sure that I care for any society more exalted 
than that of Bohemia. Remember what you have 
always told me : that everywhere else in the world, 
among the great as among the botirgeoisie, a man is 
valued for what he possesses, but in Bohemia alone 
he is valued for what he is. You can’t deny that, 
you know; and since it is so, I prefer Bohemia to a 
world where one is valued according to the length 
of one’s purse.” 

Mr. Darracote looked uncomfortable. 

“ My dear,” he said, “ I am afraid you have taken 
too literally many things which I have said.” 

I don’t think so, papa. I have always thought 
everything you said was so full of wisdom that I 
could not take it too literally.” 

He laughed. 

“What mingled flattery and sarcasm! But 
88 


see 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

now ! ” — he drew her in front of him and seated her 
on a low stool at his feet. “ Does this enthusiasm 
for Bohemia mean that you have, after all, any fancy 
for that young idiot who has ventured to make love 
to you? ” 

She hesitated a moment before making a reply, 
but evidently only that she might reflect upon the 
question. Then she shook her head. 

“ No, it does not mean that. Why should it? He 
is a small part of Bohemia. Yet I like him very 
much. And you know we have always agreed that 
there is something exceedingly attractive about him.” 

“ Yes,” Mr. Darracote assented. “ He is very at- 
tractive, — not nearly so clever as these French 
scamps, but with a sterner moral stamina and a deli- 
cacy of feeling on subjects where they have none at 
all. Also he possesses talent, and the temperament 
of the artist. That means much.” 

Irma looked at the table where the young head had 
been cast down in the pain which her heart ached to 
recall. Was that what it meant — capacity for suffer- 
ing — “ the temperament of the artist”? 

“I like him very much,” she repeated; “and I 
was very sorry for him, so sorry that I almost prom- 
ised to take into consideration what he asked.” 

Her father started. 

“ What ! You almost promised — ” 

“ But before I could do so, you came in with 
Monsieur Dufresne.” 

“ It was a lucky inspiration on my part,” he said 
dryly; “although I should have made short work of 
such a promise, had you given it. You are but a 
child yet, carissima ; and you do not know that Mik- 
89 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

ing’ a man very much is no reason for promising 
him anything. Neither is the fact that you are sorry 
for him. You said the other day that if you were 
Psyche you would never suffer Eros to harness you 
to his car. You will change your mind about that, 
no doubt, as we all do sooner or later. But, until 
that time comes, I want you to remember that there 
is a much worse bondage than to be harnessed by 
Eros ; and that is to suffer yourself, for any reason 
whatever, to be harnessed without him.” 

He spoke with an emphasis which sank deep. 
Long afterward Irma retained the memory of this 
moment with a strange vividness. She had but to 
close her eyes for the inward vision to recall herself 
leaning against her father’s knee, the familiar scene 
of the studio around them; the bronze hanging lamp 
— a Pompeiian shape — throwing its radiance over 
the joyous figure of the nymph beneath it; her 
father’s voice sounding with such rare earnestness in 
her ears ; and herself gazing with wide, dark eyes — 
was it at the Psyche or into the unknown future? 

“ Do you think — are you sure,” she said at length, 
very slowly, “ that one always knows him — Eros, I 
mean? Might one not make a mistake?” 

“Hardly,” said her father, dreamily; for his 
thoughts, too, had wandered — but backward rather 
than forward. To his eyes had come a vision of the 
past, of the day, the hour, when he met a lovely 
Italian girl at the door of the Annunziata in Genoa, 
and knew, without an instant’s doubt or hesitation, 
that his heart had found its mistress for life and for 
death. “ When he comes, my dear, one recognizes 
him. There is no mistake,” he said. 

90 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Another silence of a moment or two, and then 
Irma just breathed : 

Poor Monsieur Norbert ! ” 

“ There is no need to compassionate him,” said her 
father, whose heart was just now hard against that 
offender. “ He could not help falling in love with 
you, I suppose — I’ll grant so much; but he could 
have helped making love to you as if — But there! 
One must allow for ignorance. If he were a French- 
man, I should deal very sharply with him ; but since 
he is an American, it is necessary to remember the 
provincial standard of manners. However, I will 
take care that he has no more opportunities to forget 
himself And, fortunately, we shall soon be going 
away.” 

The last words recalled Irma to a sudden recollec- 
tion of what had occurred earlier in the evening: her 
father’s strange refusal to accept an order so flatter- 
ing to him ; and his equally strange expression of a 
resolution to go with her to America, a country which 
she knew him to dislike. 

“ Papa ! ” she cried, turning toward him with sud- 
den energy, “ I insist upon knowing exactly and truly 
what you meant by all that you said to Monsieur 
Dufresne about refusing the order for that statue, and 
going away.” 

Mr. Darracote smiled, though a little uncom- 
fortably. He had foreseen this inquisition; but it 
was, nevertheless, not altogether easy to parry. 

“ So you ‘ insist ’ upon knowing, and * exactly and 
truly ’ ! ” he said, in a tone of raillery. “ Your 
Majesty is pleased to be imperative.” 

“But haven’t I a right to be imperative,” she 

91 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

demanded, '‘when you do something so uncharacter- 
istic and so inexplicable? For it ts inexplicable — 
you know it is. You know that you do not expect 
me to* believe that you would refuse a great artistic 
opportunity in order to go to America to see a 
cousin for whom you care nothing, because he offers 
you the prospect of some money ! ” 

She flung out the words scornfully, while her 
indignant eyes challenged him to denial. But he 
shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man who 
finds denial difficult. 

“ You put the matter strongly,” he said ; “ but, in the 
main, correctly. I shall certainly refuse the order 
and go to America. It seems to you an inexplicable 
resolution, I know; but is it too much to ask you to 
withhold your judgment, to have a little faith in me? 
For see, my Irma,” — his hand passed caressingly 
over her hair, — “ it is not God alone whom we must 
trust, but also those whom we love, if we wish to 
have any peace of heart in this restless world. It is 
of your life that I am thinking, my dear child. I see 
and know much that you do not know. Trust me.” 

“ Papa ! ” — she caught his hand in both her own. 
“You have betrayed yourself. I knew that it was 
so — I knew that you were thinking not of yourself 
but of me. It is too much. Do you think that I 
care for money — If And you would give up the 
opportunity of proving to all the world what you are 
and what you can do, in order to obtain some money 
for me? Papa, it would be very cruel — cruel to 
yourself and cruel to me. You shall not do it ! ” 

“ Irma ! ” 

What a sound it was ! — something between a cry 
92 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and a gasp. In the girl’s vehemence, her absorption 
in what she was saying, she had not observed the 
pallor which blanched his cheek. Now she saw the 
spasm of pain convulsing it, the hand drawn from 
her clasp and going to his heart, the labored breath, 

— she sprang to her feet with a cry of terror : 

Papa, what is it ? — what can I do?” 

He whispered one word, “ Brandy! ” 

And while she flew for it he saw life and all it con- 
tained vanishing from him. Then the cold hand that 
had clutched his heart and made it stand still in a 
moment of mortal agony, once more relaxed its 
grasp; once more, slowly, laboredly, painfully, the 
organ of life began to beat. He drew a deep breath 

— there was to be yet another respite, how long or 
how short no one could say, before the great Secret 
was told. 

“ That was sharp 1 ” he said to himself, as he lay 
back exhausted in his chair. “ There will not be 
many more such warnings. Ah, my poor Irma! ” 
Even as he thought of her she came rushing in, 
the stimulant for which he had asked in her hand. 
He drank it, felt its powerful influence reviving him, 
strengthening, quickening the beating of his heart; 
and then looking up, he tried to smile to reassure 
her as she hung over him in a passion of anxiety. 

“ I am better,” he whispered. “Don’t be alarmed. 
It is over — for the present.” 

“ But will it return?” She sank on her knees be- 
side him. “ Papa, what does it mean? — what is it? ” 
He hesitated. How could he tell her the truth? 
He had hoped to spare her any knowledge, and yet 
perhaps it was best that she should know, that she 
93 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

should have so much preparation for the final, the 
inevitable blow. 

“ You must be very quiet,” he said. “ Don t 
agitate me, or it may return at once; for it is a 
trouble of the heart. Oh, nothing to be immediately 
alarmed about! I have had it a long time, but all 
such troubles contain possibilities of a danger, you 
know. Have I seen a doctor? Yes, not very long 
ago. I did not speak of it to you, for I did not wish 
to alarm you ; but what he told me is the explana- 
tion of the resolution about America which puzzles 
you so much. He tells me that my heart is some- 
what seriously affected ; that I must be careful, avoid 
excitement; do little work, if possible none at all. 

‘ Travel,’ he said ; ‘ rest ; take an ocean voyage if you 
can.’ So this is why I am going to be selfish enough 
to carry you off to America.” 

Selfish ! ” — a flash of illumination, of perfect 
comprehension, came to the girl as she knelt, white- 
faced, beside him. She knew that he was trying to 
deceive her, — that the danger was far greater than his 
words allowed, that the plea for himself veiled an 
absolutely unselfish consideration for her ; but with 
an incredible courage she suppressed all expression 
of this knowledge and of the fear rending her heart. 
His words, “Don’t agitate, me, or it may return,” 
held her mute. 

She never knew where she gained the power of 
self-control necessary to say, after a pause which 
lasted hardly more than a minute, but was long 
enough for her to pass forever out of the happy 
realm of childhood into the woman’s kingdom of 
suffering and endurance : 


94 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


*‘Yes, I understand now. But you should have 
told me before, and then I would not have troubled 
you with my foolish remonstrances. And we shall 
prepare to go immediately, shall we not? Oh, let us 
hope that the voyage will do you very much good ! 
And I will see that nothing annoys or excites you, — 
nothing ! ” 


V 

I T was unfortunate for Norbert that Irma should so 
immediately after his declaration have learned 
the truth regarding her father’s condition of health ; 
for the greater interest at once and completely domi- 
nated the lesser. Indeed it would not be too much 
to say that it extinguished it altogether. Under 
ordinary circumstances, she could not have failed to 
think much of the first words of love that had ever 
fallen on her ear, the first glimpse she had ever been 
given into the depths of a human soul; and from 
such thinking who can say what might not have re- 
sulted ? Love has many ways of entering, and does 
not always take the heart by storm; but steals in un- 
known under various guises, and laughs to find him- 
self suddenly lord of the citadel. So it might have 
been in this case ; for there was much to open the 
way for him, had not Fate interfered, and the girl 
learned in the same hour that she had a lover and 
that death menaced her father. 

Naturally, the first knowledge sank into insignifi- 
cance by the side of the last. It would have been 
likely to do so even had her heart been far more in- 
95 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


dined than it was to consider Norbert’s appeal ; for 
the affection between father and daughter was of a 
rare strength and tenderness, amounting on her side 
to passionate devotion. Since her mother’s death in 
early childhood they had been all in all to each other, 
in a manner and to a degree which was uncommon 
even in such cases, where loss has made a peculiar 
bond between a father and an only child. Each was 
to the other the most agreeable of companions ; so, 
while the father had many twinges of self-reproach for 
keeping her so constantly with him, he could never 
nerve himself to the self-denial involved in sending 
her away. Once, indeed, with a great effort, hearken- 
ing to the remonstrances of his friend, the Abbe 
Ravoux, he had sent her to a convent; but the sepa- 
ration did not last long. He might possibly have been 
able to resist his own desire for her companionship 
had he known her to be satisfied and happy ; but the 
child was miserable, pined for him as only a heart so 
passionate can pine for the object of its intense devo- 
tion ; and begged so persistently not to be separated 
from him that he finally yielded, and took her home. 

Thenceforth Irma’s education was of the most de- 
sultory kind, and yet of a kind which possibly effected 
a better result for her nature and her character than 
a more methodical training would have accomplished. 
She went indeed for certain coiirs every day to an ex- 
cellent school; but the hours she spent in the studio 
with her father — he working, she reading aloud the 
great Italian, French, and English classics, and listen- 
ing with delight to his comments and interpretations 
were what best deserved the name of education. 
And then the brilliant gatherings of her father’s 
96 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


friends, all men of remarkable gifts, if not always of 
genius, who possessed the flashing keenness, bright- 
ness, and wit of the great intellectual and artistic 
world in which they lived ! It was no wonder that in 
this atmosphere her intelligence expanded like an 
opening flower, and that in thought she was far in 
advance of most girls of her age, while in feeling she 
was still a child. 

Possibly the fact that she had little association 
with those of her own sex and age in some degree 
produced this result. Had she been left at school 
with other girls, she would have heard the usual chat- 
ter regarding lovers, toilets, and fashions; whereas 
in her life she rarely if ever heard these subjects of 
universal feminine interest mentioned. It was not only 
a masculine world in which she lived, but a mature 
masculine world, — a world for the most part of high 
thinking and strenuous domg, where if the Philistine 
and the bourgeois were scorned it was because of 
their mercenary ideals rather than because of their 
ignorance. It was Bohemia, indeed, but not the 
Bohemia of romances, nor yet that Bohemia of reality 
where conventionality is set at naught in order that 
vice may be indulged ; but quite another Bohemia, 
that of workers too absorbed to think of or care for 
the trivial social side of life, and where, as Darracote 
had truly said, a man was valued simply and solely 
for what he was, what he had done or might do, 
rather than for what he possessed. 

It was in this world that she had grown to woman- 
hood ; and although her father talked with self- 
reproach of the dangers it might have held for her, 
he had carefully guarded her from any such dangers. 

7 97 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


He had dropped from his acquaintance, or at least 
from the intimacy of his house, every man whom he 
held to be unworthy to meet her; while among those 
who came there were few young men, and on these 
he kept a watchful eye. This watchfulness had been 
relaxed in some degree for Norbert, who had come 
to him with the personal claim of letters from an old 
friend in America, and whom he had liked, and 
trusted with a half-unconscious reliance upon what 
he termed his provincial standard of manners and 
conduct. It would not have been any Frenchman, 
whether “ rapin of the studios ” or not, who would 
have been allowed that tete-a-tete which Norbert had 
used for his own undoing; and perhaps there was a 
grim sense of satisfaction in the father’s mind as he 
thought of the pain and disappointment of the 
“ young fool ” who had taken such truly American 
advantage of his confidence. 

But with Irma there did not remain even a remem- 
brance of that pain and disappointment after she 
had learned what Shadow hovered with dark wings 
above her father’s head. Everything else, and cer- 
tainly such a trifle as a lover, sank into insignificance 
beside the sorrow which threatened her; a sorrow 
so overwhelming, so revolutionizing, that she could 
not imagine what life would, be like if it should fall 
upon her. As an abstract truth, she knew that all 
men were mortal ; but that her father could die, — 
that this beloved companion, this being who filled all 
her existence, could be taken from her, — this her 
mind refused to credit. So, after a night of sleepless 
anguish, such as her young life had never known 
before, she rose in the morning with the deteimination 

98 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


not to believe. Of- course he was ill; she could not 
doubt that, remembering the white, drawn agony of 
his face. But how often were people ill who yet did 
not die ! She would not be so foolish as to anticipate 
the worst ; she would trust in the goodness of God, 
who knew so well that this dear father was all she had 
on earth. She would pray for his restoration to 
health, and she would watch over him ; he should not 
fatigue or excite himself; they would take the voyage 
to America; they would go around the world if 
necessary. Oh, surely, by watchfulness and care and 
doing everything the doctors said, the disease could 
be kept at bay ! She would not doubt it; she would 
be strong and cheerful, and not suffer her mind to 
dwell on dark possibilities, — possibilities far too dark 
ever to come to pass. 

It was in this spirit that after the early breakfast at 
which her father never appeared, she went out with 
Margherita, according to their almost daily custom, 
to hear Mass in the old parish church of Passy. And 
although she had striven to reassure herself, and in a 
measure succeeded in doing so, enough of the shadow 
of fear remained to give a new meaning, a new spirit 
to the prayers which she poured forth, kneeling before 
the altar, and passionately addressing Him who has 
sounded all depths of human suffering. And after 
she had prayed with this intense passion and fervor 
she had again the firm conviction that what she 
dreaded was, in a sense, impossible. The tender and 
compassionate Lord, to whom she had spoken with 
childlike love and confidence, would certainly spare 
her father and give them yet many long years of life 
together. 

99 




WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


So, with a heart much lightened, she left the church, 
and paused a moment outside to speak to her com- 
panion. 

“ Margherita, I promised to see Mademoiselle 
Camilla this morning. But there is no reason why 
you should come with me. It is but a short distance 
I have to walk, and you had better make your pur- 
chases quickly and go home.” 

Margherita looked very doubtful. 

“ The signor has always told me never to leave you 
when we are on the streets,” she said. “ He is care- 
ful, — he knows that it is not proper for a young lady 
to go about unattended. And why should I be in 
special haste to make my purchases this morning? 
There is no need.” 

“Yes, there is need,” the girl answered. “My 
father might want something, — I insist upon it!” 

“ Oh, if it has come to that, — that you insist upon 
getting rid of me, — of course I must go,” said Mar- 
gherita, with high offence. “ But if the signor asks 
me how it comes that I left you — ” 

“ Tell him that it was my fault. Come, Margherita,” 
— coaxingly, — “ don’t be foolish. I have no desire 
to get rid of you. But I am anxious about paoa. 
He was a little indisposed last night, and I do not like 
him to be left alone. Yet I promised Camilla to see 
her this morning, so I must go, if only for a few 
minutes. But I will not go unless you promise me to 
return home quickly.” 

‘‘ What is the trouble, Signorina Irma? And what 
are you trying to induce our friend Margherita to 
do?” asked a pleasant voice. 

The girl started and turned quickly. A tall, slender 

lOO 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


man in the dress of a priest had addressed her and 
now stood smiling down at her; his fine head, with its 
clear-cut features, its broad brow, dark, commanding 
eyes, thin cheeks and lips, presenting a type at once 
ascetic, intellectual, and aristocratic. 

“ Ah, Monsieur TAbbe,” she exclaimed, “ what an 
unexpected pleasure ! When did you return to 
Paris?” 

“ Only a day or two ago,” he replied ; “ and I have 
been intending to visit your father. I hope that he 
is well? ” 

A cloud fell suddenly over the brightness of the 
girl’s face. 

“ No,” she said sadly; “ he is not well. He is ill, 
although I did not know it until last night. The 
trouble is with his heart; and although it may not 
be dangerous, — oh, I am sure it is not dangerous ! — 
still, you know, one will be unhappy — ” 

“ Yes,” answered the Abbe, “ I know.” 

The smile had left his finely cut lips now, as they 
closed gravely over these words, while into his eyes 
came a look of compassion. For he was a man not 
only of keen perceptions but one whom personal 
suffering had taught much; and he saw clearly, 
deep in the young eyes lifted to his own, the 
shadow of a mortal fear, unacknowledged, denied 
by bold words, but existing, nevertheless. Presently 
he repeated : 

I know. But our apprehensions often make us 
more unhappy than we need be. Somewhere in life 
Sorrow waits for us all, but to go to meet her by a 
single step is not only unnecessary but argues lack 
of faith in the good God. Why has He mercifully 

lOI 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


veiled the future from us save that He desires that 
we should walk like children, trusting Him for the 
next step; and, whether it be in sunshine or in 
shadow, thanking Him? So do not cloud your sun- 
shine by fears that may be unfounded. Perhaps your 
father’s illness is not serious. Many persons live for 
years with affections of the heart.” 

“Yes, I have heard that,” she said eagerly; “ and 
I have told myself that it is folly to expect only the 
worst. So I have resolved to be brave, very brave, 
and look on the bright side. But I hope you will 
come to see us soon. Monsieur I’Abbe; for we are 
going to America.” 

“To America! Is it possible? But I have often 
heard Monsieur Darracote say that he wished to die — 
that is, to live always in France or in Italy.” 

“ Oh, we are not going there to live I ” she replied. 
“ The doctors say that an ocean voyage will be good 
for him, and a relative has written begging him to 
come, and so he thinks it best to go.” 

“ Ah I I comprehend,” said the Abbe. And, in 
truth, very brief reflection was necessary to enable 
him to comprehend why Gilbert Darracote, stricken 
with mortal illness, knowing his span of life to be at 
once short and uncertain, should wish to place this 
beautiful and, in case of his death, unprotected girl 
with those upon whom she had claims of relation- 
ship. “ It is no doubt best,” he added, after a mo- 
ment; “and possibly the voyage will do him much 
good. As for you, my child,” — and the grave, 
gentle dark eyes seemed to envelop her with the 
penetrating kindness of their regard, — “try, as you 
have resolved, to be ‘ very brave,’ and that means 


102 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

also cheerful. You have always been the brightness 
of your father’s life; do not cease to be that bright- 
ness when he will need it most. And, now, if I come 
this evening shall I find your father at home ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, he will be at home, and will be delighted 
— always delighted — to see you. Monsieur I’Abbe ! ” 

“ Then you may expect me this evening, so au 
re voir ! ” 

He lifted his broad-brimmed hat with the air of a 
man of the world, — an air retained from the days 
when he had been one of the foremost among the 
young diplomats of France, — and passed on; while 
Irma turned again to Margherita. 

“ Go now,” she said, in a tone which admitted of 
no question ; get what you need and hasten home. 
I myself will be back within an hour.” 

Having disposed of Margherita, Irma turned and 
walked quickly along a wide, well-shaded street in the 
direction of Paris. It was a quiet street, less pre- 
tentious than some of the neighboring avenues, but 
lined nearly all of the way between Passy and the 
great city with handsome, detached houses, set in 
more or less extensive grounds. The Arc de 
Triomphe was almost in sight when she paused at 
length before a tall house with a plain fagade, entered 
an iron gate, which stood partly open, as if for the 
convenience of many persons passing in and out, 
walked around a winding path bordered by a high, 
well-trimmed hedge, mounted a flight of steps, and 
rang the door-bell. A white-capped maid answered 
the summons, and smiled in recognition of the 
visitor. 


103 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Mademoiselle Vincent? Oh, yes, she was at 
home ! Would Mademoiselle Irma go up to her 
room ? ” 

Mademoiselle Irma replied that she would ; and, 
with the cordial approval of the maid, who thus saw 
herself spared a journey of three flights of stairs, 
passed up the staircase. She was thoroughly familiar 
with the house ; so when she reached the final 
landing she walked down a narrow passage, knocked 
at a closed door, and, hardly waiting for permission, 
opened it and entered the room within. 

A very small room, but dainty and pleasant to the 
eye, with its dark polished floor, its draperies of 
gay flowered cretonne, its narrow white bed, and, 
best of all, its open window overlooking the tall trees 
and green alleys of a ducal garden. A girl with 
large brown eyes and a mass of flu fly chestnut hair 
sprang up from the only easy-chair the room con- 
tained, when Irma entered. 

“ Ah, how glad I am to see you ! ” she cried, em- 
bracing her in a very impulsive fashion. “ If you had 
failed to come within half an hour, I must have gone 
out; and then you would not have heard my news, 
at least not immediately.” 

“And what is your new^?” Irma asked, kissing 
her on both cheeks. “ It must be good, for your eyes 
are shining like stars.”' 

“ And well they may ! ” the girl laughed. “ I 
have just received a note from the maestro. He 

wishes to see me particularly. X and Z are 

here ” (she named two noted impresarios), “ and he 
wants to arrange for them to hear me sing.” 

“Ah!” Irma flashed, through sympathy, into an 
104 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

animation almost equal to her own, “ And that 
means ?” 

That my time of waiting is nearly over. I am 
like a bird fluttering on the edge of its nest. I shall 
soon spread my wings, and then ” — she opened her 
arms with a graceful gesture, as if they were wings — 
then I shall fly away over the wide world, singing, 
singing, singing, and coining money ! ” 

Irma shook her head with an air of rebuke. 

Don t, Camilla ! ” she said. “ I cannot bear to 
hear you talk of coining money. It is not of that an 
artist should think.” 

But it is of that they all do think,” rejoined 
Camilla. “And of what else should I think? Is it 
likely that I would work as I have done, and as I 
shall still have to do, let even the best come, for the 
purpose of devoting myself to Art and giving pleasure 
to others? Bah! Of course I love my art, but I 
would never slave at it without the hope of its 
rewards.” 

“ No one could possibly expect you to do so. 
But you should not talk as if money were the chief 
reward of which you thought.” 

“ But how can I talk otherwise if it is the chief, 
ma chere? Fame is all very well, but what would it 
be worth without the money that accompanies it? 
Don’t look so shocked I Everybody thinks just as I 
do, except your father and a few — very few — other 
idealists. As for my profession, it is well known that 
there are no more mercenary people in the world 
than musicians, especially singers.'” 

“ But that does not prove anything, Camilla.” 
“Look even at the maestro Camilla went on, 
105 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

with energy. “ I am devoted to him, but do you 
think I am blind to the reason of his fondness for me? 
How much would he care for me if I did not have 
what he calls ‘ a pearl of a voice’ ? And why does 
he value this pearl of a voice except for the money 
it is going to bring to me and to him? You are a 
dreamer, Irma mia: you have lived only in the 
studio, and read Dante, and heard the dear papa 
rhapsodize ; but I — I have looked the world in the 
face, and I am not afraid of it. I will have it at my 
feet yet, and I will enjoy all that it can give. Oh, 
you will see ! ” 

She was indeed the personification of one fitted to 
triumph over the world of which she spoke, as she 
stood, flushed, radiant, weakened by no self-distrust, 
ready to grasp with a splendid audacity all its prizes. 

There are some natures born so to triumph, despite 
every obstacle which fate can place in their way. 
And obstacles had not been lacking to Camilla 
Vincent. Like Irma, she was the child of what it is 
the fashion to call an international marriage, her 
father having been an Englishman, her mother an 
Italian ; but, unlike Irma, she had been left altogether 
an orphan while still a child. There had been a tie 
of distant cousinship between the mothers of the two 
girls, and a closer tie of friendship between their 
fathers. 

It was at the house of Arthur Vincent, a young 
painter of great promise, that Gilbert Darracote met 
the lovely Italian girl with whom he had already 
fallen in love at the church door, and who later 
became his wife. The young painter died early, his 
fame still unmade, and his wife survived him but a few 
io6 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

years. Then her soul followed whither her heart had 
already gone j and Camilla was left to the charity of 
her Italian relatives on the one hand, and the un- 
known English connections of her father on the other. 
The first would willingly have provided for her, but 
they were of the class of professional people of nar- 
row means, struggling to maintain a position and rear 
large families; while the second, belonging to that 
stratum of middle-class English society which is most 
narrowly insular in its feelings and sympathies, had 
little inclination to be troubled with the child of one 
who had in the first place forgotten himself so far as 
to adopt the beggarly calling of an artist, and in the 
second place had married an Italian and a “ Roman- 
ist." Their grudging response to the claim which 
Camilla’s relatives made on her behalf led the girl to 
refuse the pittance which they offered; and then, 
unwilling to remain longer a burden on her uncles, 
who had already cared for her mother for years, she 
went to Paris; and, through the efforts of Mr. 
Darracote, obtained a place as governess in the 
school where Irma took her cours. 

But this was only a temporary arrangement. The 
brilliant girl had no intention of burying her talents 
in what is, in Europe at least, the absolute slavery 
of such a life : of becoming one of the immense 
army of governesses, obscure, ill-paid, hardly ranking 
above domestic servants. She possessed a superb 
voice, — one of those voices which seem to exist only 
in Italy or in those of Italian blood, — and she soon 
gave up everything else in order to devote herself 
to its cultivation ; for this was one of the cases in 
which there could be no doubt of the final result. 

107 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

That she would become a great singer was as much 
of a certainty as anything not accomplished can be, 
and if her master, a man of world-wide reputation, 
held her back, practised and trained, and still bade 
her “ wait,” it was only in order that he might the 
more efifectively launch her at last on the road to 
fame and fortune. No one doubted that her success 
would be immediate ; and the mistress of the school 
where Mr. Darracote had placed her was only too 
willing to keep her under her roof until she should 
leave it to spread her wings in earnest. 

For herself, no faintest shade of that fear of failure 
which torments most aspirants to any form of fame 
ever disturbed her supreme self-confidence. While 
she had gone about Paris on foot as a shabby gov- 
erness, hiding the beauty of her face behind a thick 
veil, she had often laughed in her heart at what 
seemed to her merely a masquerading; and thought 
of the time, so certain to come, when she would roll 
down the Champs-Elysees in her carriage, more 
admired, more observed, the object of more intoxi- 
cating homage than any royal princess. The ob- 
scurity of the present was not more real to her than 
the glory of the future. She knew the value of her 
voice as a tradesman knows the value of his wares ; 
and, like a tradesman, she was determined to exact 
the last farthing of its value. 

It was- this spirit, the incipient cupidity which, 
when developed, makes the typical prima-don7ia per- 
haps the most rapacious and grasping of human 
creatures, that jarred upon Irma, child of an idealist 
and herself without the faintest mercenary taint in 
her nature. Therefore, although she smiled at the 

ip8 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

last words, she was unable to refrain altogether from 
further protest. 

“ I have not the least doubt that I shall see all that 
you say,” she answered. “ You will be reigning like 
a queen — for who are such queens as the great 
singers! — while I am still reading Dante in the 
studio. And I am delighted that you are going to 
have the reward at last of your hard work and long 
waiting. Only I do wish that you would not think 
so much of the sordid side of it all — of money and 
the things money will buy.” 

“ What would you have me think of ? ” Camilla 
asked, half-pityingly. She threw herself back in the 
easy-chair which Irma, preferring to sit near the 
window with its view into the garden, had declined. 
*‘I am not a dreamer — you know that. If I were, 
ma foi ! I should put on the black veil : I should go 
into the cloister at once. But to live in the world 
and not desire the things of the world — now, I ask 
you, how is that possible?” 

“It may not be possible altogether,” Irma ad- 
mitted; “but there is a higher and a lower aim: we 
may always choose. And to use the great gift, the 
great power of the artist, only for means of self- 
gratification, that is surely an aim which is very low. 
My father says — ” 

“ Oh, I have heard him talk I ” interrupted Camilla. 
“ I know what he thinks. One should do one’s best 
for the sake of doing one’s best. And if the reward 
comes, it is well and good ; and if it does not come, 
it is well and good also. That may do for him ; for, 
unlike most preachers, I know that he practises what 
he preaches. But it is too much to ask the rest of 
109 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

the world to practise it, and especially it is too much 
to ask me. There is nothing sublimated about me : 
I am practical to the tips of my fingers. My experi- 
ence tells me that the world bows down and wor- 
ships money. Now, I have that here ” — she grasped 
her round white throat — '‘which can compel it to 
pour that money out at my feet; and shall I not 
take all that I can gain and use the power which it 
gives me } ” 

“ If you are careful to use it for high ends — yes.” 

“What are high ends? I fear we should never 
agree about that. I would like to see you with a 
fortune, so as to discover what you would consider 
the proper uses for it.” 

“You will never see that,” said Irma, simply; 
“and I am glad of it. The proper uses might be 
hard to find, and I might even grow to love the 
money for itself. But let us not talk of it any more, 
or you will think that I am not anxious for you to 
succeed in every way possible ; and I am, in fact, 
so anxious that I would do anything to help you, 
if you needed help — which you do not. I know 
Signor Marchetti thinks the impresarios will be fight- 
ing for you as soon as they hear your voice. Where 
does he intend that you shall make your debut .^” 

“ Either in this city or in Milan. If it is in Milan, 
you must be there; that is understood.” 

Irma started, and the shadow of thoughts which 
she had for a time forgotten fell again over her 
face. 

“Ah ! ” she replied, with a sigh, “ that will not be 
possible. I have some news too, but not so good as 
yours. We are going, papa and I, to America.” 
no 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Camilla raised herself in her chair with an expres- 
sion of profound astonishment. 

“What! You are going to America I Why, I 
thought your father disliked the country ! ” 

“ So he does/’ answered Irma; “but it is not for 
pleasure that he is going. His health is not good, 
and the doctors have said that an ocean voyage may 
benefit him. Then a cousin whom he once knew 
intimately has written that he would like to see him, 
and so we have decided to go.” 

“When?” 

“Very soon, I trust, — as soon as we can get 
ready.” 

“ Mon Dien ! ” Camilla sat staring at her. “ I feel 
as if the pillars of the world were giving way. Oh, 
what shall I do without you and the dear father! 
And if you are gone, who will there be to witness 
and enjoy my triumph?” 

Tout le monder said Irma, smiling; “and the 
maesti'o in especial.” 

“As if tout le monde^ and the maestro besides, 
could make up for the absence of the only people 
I care for or who care for me ! When will you come 
back?” 

“ I cannot tell. It will depend on papa’s health.” 
Despite herself, Irma’s tone conveyed a hint of the 
fear which filled her soul, — the dark fear she en- 
deavored to drive away, but which would not depart. 
“Nothing is certain,” she added, “except that we 
are going.” 

“ But this is strange news of your father’s ill 
health. I thought him perfectly well.” 

“So did I — until last night. Then suddenly, 

HI 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


while we were talking together, he had an attack of 
illness — Oh, Camilla, I thought that he would die 
before my eyes ! And when he grew better he told 
me that he had been to a doctor; that he is very 
ill, and that for this reason he is going to America, 
the ocean voyage and rest having been prescribed 
for him. My heart stood still to hear — and to see 
him ! Like a flash of lightning the conviction came 
to me that God is going to take him from me. Since; 
then I have tried to overcome this feeling — to hope 
that he is not so ill — to believe that unceasing 
watchfulness will keep off these awful attacks; but 
all the time there is something like a wild beast 
tearing at me; I know that it is fear — fear of the 
worst — ” 

“No, no ! ” cried Camilla, springing up, and throw- 
ing her arms about the other, “ you must not listen 
to that fear — you must have hope and courage. 
Oh, it cannot be serious ! God will not take him, 
who is all you have in the world ! ” 

It was what Irma had said to herself but a short 
time before, yet now that the words came from the 
lips of another they seemed to have less power to 
reassure. An instinct whispered the sad truth that 
no human need is a shield against invincible Death, 
a reason for hoping that his dart may be lowered 
when once raised to strike. She put up her hand 
and pushed back the dark, clustering curls from her 
brow. It was a familiar gesture with her when 
troubled or disturbed. 

“ Lasciamo fare a Dio ! ” she said. “ That is all 
I can do — leave things to God, and try to be brave 
and hopeful. Now, Camilla mia^ is it not time for 

II3 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


you to keep your appointment? You must not let 
me detain you, and indeed I cannot stay longer. I 
come only to tell you that we are going away. 
Hereafter I shall not leave my father, so you must 
come to see us and tell us all your news. I shall 
be anxious to hear if the impresarios are as much 
impressed as we expect, and shall not be surprised 
if they fall upon each other and fight a duel for the 
possession of you.” 

Camilla smiled, quickly regaining the cheerfulness 
of which nothing had power to deprive her very 
long. 

*^We shall see! ’’she said. For myself, I have 
no fears. I suppose I ought to be trembling, but 
I feel triumphant and absolutely sure of complete 
success. Of course I shall come to see you and let 
you know as soon as anything is settled. But now 
you are right : I must hasten to the maestro. If I 
should make him wait he would be in an .awful 
rage.” 


VI 



FORTNIGHT later a group was again gath- 


ered under the trees on the lawn of the 


house in Passy, composed of those who were the 
chief amis de la maison. There was the Abb6 
Ravoux, with his mingled air of the ecclesiastic and 
the man of the world, intellectual, polished; carry- 
ing in his aspect and manner all the aroma of the 
salons, together with what may be called the perfume 
of the cloister, — that fragrance caught from the 
8 113 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

spiritual life which even the most worldly can recog- 
nize, There was Dufresne, with his strong, keen, 
bearded face and dry, cynical manner. There was 
Norbert, with his enthusiasms, and his dreams 
which had already begun to suffer some change from 
the atmosphere of the decadent society in which he 
found himself. And there was Camilla, with her 
superb self-confidence, and the dawn-like glow of 
her coming triumph shining, as it were, about her. 

They were all come to bid the Darracotes, father 
and daughter, adieu; for it was settled that they 
would leave Paris the next day, and sail from Havre 
the day after. Such partings are always sad; for in 
our life of change' and chance what assurance have 
those that part that they will ever meet again } 

But this parting would have been especially so, 
from the knowledge present in the thoughts of each 
of the danger overshadowing their friend and host, 
had not the latter by his cheerful animation rendered 
sadness impossible. He was indeed looking so 
well, and was in such good spirits, as he had been 
for a fortnight past, that Irma almost entirely put 
away fear regarding his health. Seeing him before 
her eyes apparently untouched by disease, how was 
it possible for her to believe in the danger, of which 
she had obtained only one startling glimpse? And 
so she herself was in radiant spirits, — spirits which 
her friends remembered afterward with many pangs 
of pity, — notwithstanding the fact that on the mor- 
row she was to leave her home of many years, and 
turn her face toward a land of which she knew 
nothing. 

But for the shock of fear and anxiety which 
114 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

she had suffered, this would have been to her a 
very painful necessity-; for the love of change 
and wandering had never been developed in her, 
while, on the contrary, her local attachments were 
strong and deep. But having suffered that horrible 
anxiety beside which everything else was dwarfed 
into insignificance, she thought only of the possibly 
beneficial effect of the change upon her father’s 
health, and was eager that it should be tried. 
Therefore she had hastened all their preparations; 
they were now ready for departure; and their pas- 
sage was taken in the great steamer which would 
sail from Havre within the next two days. 

So, for the last time, the little group of intimates 
gathered in the familiar spot, which had witnessed so 
many such gatherings, to bid them bo7i voyage. But, 
as if by common consent, the subject of departure 
was avoided, and the talk had been for the most part 
light and gay, such as suited the golden summer 
evening still shining all about them with its radiance 
and charm. 

Yet there was one heart on which the pain of 
parting lay so heavily that the sunshine had for it no 
radiance and no charm. To Norbert it was impos- 
sible to imagine how life would go on after the face 
which made sunshine for him had passed out of it; 
for he knew well that in this parting there was more 
than the usual element of uncertainty. Apart from 
the condition of Mr. Darracote’s health, of which 
he did not think very much, the instinct of the lover 
told him that a girl so beautiful would hardly go out 
into the world with an unsafeguarded heart and 
return as she had gone — if, indeed, she returned 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

at all. And he knew well that this heart was un- 
safeguarded as far as any response to his passion 
was concerned. He had not seen Irma alone for a 
moment since their parting in the studio, but Mr. 
Darracote had startled him by walking in upon him 
the next day and had settled his fate by a few kind 
but decided words. 

“Understand,” he said in conclusion, '‘that I do. 
not object to your coming to my house in the 
manner to which you have been accustomed — in 
fact, I should be sorry if you did not come ; but if 
you come, it must be on the distinct condition that 
you do not trouble my daughter with any further 
love-making. She does not respond to your senti- 
ment, of that I think you must have assured your- 
self. But she likes you, she is easily touched to 
compassion, and there is no doubt she could readily 
be led to bind herself in a manner which she would 
be certain to regret when wider knowledge of life 
gives her a knowledge of herself which she does not 
possess now.” 

The young man flushed painfully. 

“I hope,” he said, “that you do not think I am 
capable of wishing her to bind herself in any manner 
that she would be likely to regret.? ” 

“No,” Mr. Darracote answered; “I am sure you 
would not do so — knowingly. But youth is selfish 
and passion is blind, and I recognize, both in your 
character and in hers, possibilities which might 
lead to one of those tragic mistakes that, without 
apparent fault on either side, often wreck human 
lives. But I am determined to allow no opportunity 
for anything of the kind. The situation is plain. 

ii6 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Irma has none of the feeling for you that you desire. 
If you are sufficiently convinced of this, and strong 
enough in self-control to meet her on the old 
friendly ground, why, come as heretofore. But if 
you cannot do this — if you cannot trust yourself 
— then it is better that you should stay away. I 
cannot permit her to be tormented nor her pity 
worked upon. If you come, you must promise that 
there shall be no more love-making.” 

“ Do you mean that I am to bind myself indefi- 
nitely ? ” Norbert asked slowly. 

‘‘No,” Mr. Darracote replied; “I will only ask 
you to bind yourself during the time which remains 
before our departure for America. That is not 
long.” 

“ Thatmd^y not be long,” Norbert returned; “but 
the time which will follow, — the time of separation 
from her, — how long will that be? ” 

He did not understand the sadness which gathered 
in the eyes so kindly yet keenly regarding him. 

“That,” Gilbert Darracote answered, “God only 
knows. But after we have left France I lay no 
embargo on you. In the future, if you desire to do 
so, you may seek her and try your fortune again; 
but at the present time I will have no more of a 
subject which only disturbs and distresses her. If 
you agree to this, come to us as often as you like; 
if not, my door must be closed to you.” 

It is almost needless to say that, given the situa- 
tion as Norbert perceived it, — to wit, that Mr. 
Darracote was right in his assertion that Irma did 
not respond to his feeling, and that consequently to 
insist upon pressing it on her would only serve the 

”7 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


end of shutting himself out from her presence with- 
out any compensation at all, — it was not surprising 
that he gave the pledge asked of him, and so con- 
tinued to hold his place in that inner circle of 
friends who found their way to the Passy house. 

To Irma her father simply said : 

^*I have spoken to that foolish boy, and he will 
not annoy you again. Make no difference in your 
manner to him when he comes next.” 

The girl opened her eyes. 

‘‘Why should I make any difference.? ” she asked. 
“I am glad you spoke to him, and that he will not 
talk so again ; for it is painful — it makes me sad. 
But for anything else, I do not think of it.” 

And this was quite true — so true that at his next 
visit Norbert clearly recognized that indeed she 
did “not think of it.” There was no consciousness 
in her manner, nor in her glance when it met his; 
for the simple reason that a greater emotion had 
entirely swept out of her thoughts his avowal and 
all that it implied. The young man was deeply 
stung by this indifference, and yet there was a cer- 
tain comfort in it. Psyche had not wakened yet, 
but might it not be at last his happy privilege to 
waken her .? 

This was the dream which kept him from despair, 
— a dream which almost every lover cherishes so 
long as there is no “other” in the case. But it was 
not able to save him from the pang which was tear- 
ing his heart as he sat under the green shade of the 
chestnuts and devoured with his eyes (not knowing 
how they told his story to every one) the lovely face, 
full at once of enchanting brightness and enchant- 
1 18 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

ing softness, which was soon to vanish from his 
sight. 

Don’t look so triste,” Camilla said to him. “Do 
you not see that we are all making an effort to be 
gay } It is to keep up t/ietr spirits, especially poor 
Irma’s. If we followed our inclination, we should 
probably all look as melancholy as you do; but, I 
ask you now, would that be very cheerful ” 

He could not but smile. 

“Possibly not,” he said; “but if you think that 
I am not making any effort, you are mistaken. I 
assure you that if I followed mj/ inclination I should 
look much more melancholy than I do.” 

“ But what is the good of it ? ” she demanded. 
“Nobody will miss the dear people so much as I — 
What! you don’t believe it.^^” 

Norbert, who had been betrayed into an expres- 
sion of incredulity, was obliged to own that he did 
not. 

“Candidly,” he said, “I think that I shall miss 
them a great deal more ; for, without discussing any 
possible difference of quality in our regard, it is 
very certain that I am not about to be absorbed in a 
d/dut which is to electrify the world.” 

“And it does not occur to you that one would like 
a little sympathy at such a time,” she returned; 
“that it will be rather hard to have nobody at all to 
feel a personal interest in one’s triumph. Do you 
suppose that, although you are desperately in love 
with Irma — ma foi! a bat could see that, — you will 
really miss her as much as I shall.? ” 

“I think,” he replied uncompromisingly, “that, 
by comparison, you will not miss her at all. You 
119 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


confess that yours is only a selfish desire for some 
one to sympathize with you in your triumph; but 
for me — I don’t at all care who knows it, — the sun 
will go out of the world when she is gone. I am 
afraid even to think of the desolation which is 
before me, and I am sure it will be as much as I 
can do to avoid drowning myself.” 

Camilla regarded him with a rather inscrutable 
expression in her bright brown eyes. He was very 
much of an enigma to her, for the men with whom 
her experience had acquainted her were of a very 
different type, but she had always been conscious of 
a certain attractive quality in him. 

''Don’t do that!” she said. "Think of the un- 
pleasantness of the morgue 1 Besides, ' quand on 
est morty c est pour lofigtempsd Whereas, if you 
remain alive, there is nothing that I am aware of to 
prevent your seeing her again.” 

"Ah!” he answered, drawing in his breath 
sharply ; " but who can tell how — or where ? ” 

The Abbe Ravoux overheard the words and turned 
toward him. 

"Monsieur Norbert,” he said, in his gentle, high- 
bred voice, "those are questions which a wise man 
does not ask, because he knows that to answer them 
is impossible; and a Christian does not ask them, 
because he knows that the future is in the hand of 
God.” 

The young man lifted his glance to the dark, 
clear-cut face, at once so winning and so com- 
manding. 

"But suppose that one has the misfortune to be 
neither, Monsieur I’Abbe? ” he said. "What then? 
i?o 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

And, honestly, why should it lessen the fear of 
calamity to believe that it may come from the hand 
of God? Would one suffer from it the less on that 
account ? ” 

'‘A childish question!” said the Ahh6. “For- 
give me ! ” — as Norbert flushed — “ I was not think- 
ing so much of you as of the widespread childishness 
which asks such questions. See, my friend I would 
you perceive no difference if a surgeon cut off your 
arm without cause, or if he cut it off to save your 
whole body from death ? ” 

“Metaphors are misleading. Monsieur I’Abbe. 
The difference lies in this, — one would know what 
the surgeon had in view.” 

“I grant that one must exercise a little faith with 
regard to what le bon Dieu has in view when He 
operates upon us,” the Abbe responded, smiling. 
“But it does not require a very heroic degree of 
that virtue to believe that a wisdom incomparably 
higher than our own orders all things for ends so 
far-reaching that we are unable to perceive them.” 
Dufresne here turned to the speaker. 

“You may not consider that a very heroic degree 
of faith is required for such a belief,” he said; “but 
to me it appears so heroic as to be impossible. 
How is a man to believe in ' ends so far-reaching 
that it is impossible to perceive them ’ } ” 

“By applying the simplest principles governing 
that which he knows to that which he does not 
know,” the Abb6 answered. “There is not a man 
who has lived anything beyond a mere animal exist- 
ence who will not acknowledge that everything 
which he possesses of value in his character and 

J2I 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

everything he knows of true wisdom he has learned 
through things which seemed hardest to him and 
against which perhaps he rebelled most strongly. 
It is the old illustration of the potter and the clay. 
While we murmur, a divine hand is forming us for 
uses of which we know little, but which even in this 
life it is given us sometimes to recognize. 

Dufresne growled something inarticulate, which 
might be taken for protest; but Gilbert Darracote 
nodded assent. 

“It is true,” he said. “Do you remember the 
player in the ‘ Purgatorio,’ who lingers after the 
game is over, sadly repeating his throws and ‘ learn- 
ing by his losses ’ ? Not even Dante ever touched a 
deeper truth. It is from our losses and our griefs 
that we learn all that is best worth knowing for life, 
or — for death.” 

A moment’s silence fell on the group. It was the 
first note of earnestness that had been sounded in 
their talk, the first outward sign of the underlying 
sadness in all their minds. At another time 
Dufresne’ s protest would have become speedily 
articulate; but as it was, no one spoke : no one dared 
contradict the man who, standing in the shadow of 
possible death, declared that what he had learned in 
life best worth knowing he had, like Dante’s player, 
learned through his losses and his griefs. 

Presently Camilla rose. 

“ It is hard to tear one’s self away,” she observed, 
“but for me there is no alternative. The maestro 
is to bring the impresario from Milan to see me 
this evening, and we are to arrange final terms, 
so that the contract may be drawn up. Ah, my 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

friends, my friends, why are you going away just 
now ? ” 

For one thing, because you have no further need 
of us, Camilla,” said Mr. Darracote, patting gently 
the hand she laid on his arm. “You will soon be a 
famous singer, and the most rose-lined path of suc- 
cess in all the world will open before you. What 
could we do but mingle our bravas with all the 
others that will greet you } ” 

“What could you do? You could keep me sane 
and sober,” the girl answered, with a sudden flash 
of wisdom. “ It is for that one needs a friend. Oh, 
I shall have flatterers enough, but any one to say, 

' Camilla, be wise! Remember you are but a little 
Italian nightingale singing for an hour to amuse 
these who listen ; but when you can no longer sing, 
what will they care for you ? ’ — there will be no one 
to say that to me. ” 

“But since you are capable of saying it to your- 
self, Mademoiselle/’ remarked Dufresne, “why 
should you need some one else to hold the burn- 
ing flax before you and cry, Sic transit gloria 
mimdif ” 

“Because, Monsieur, the incense of praise is like 
wine: it mounts to the head,” she answered, with a 
charming candor. ^^And I cannot trust myself to 
remember always the burning flax.” 

“If the incense mounts to your head, it will not 
stay there,” said Darracote, smiling. “I have no 
fear of that : the head is too wise, the heart is too 
true. So go out into the world and sing like a true 
nightingale of our Italy. And my blessing go with 
you. ” 


123 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

With a quick, graceful movement she bent her 
head and kissed his hand. 

“You give me,” she said, “the blessing my father 
is not here to give. And now I will go with a light 
heart to meet the impresario. This is not good-bye, 
you know; for I shall be here to-morrow morning to 
see you off. Meanwhile Irma is coming with me 
for an hour or two.” 

“I shall be gone but a short time, papa,” inter- 
posed Irma. “ Camilla insists that I must witness 
her triumph over the impresario as the keynote of 
all her triumphs to come.” 

‘‘There is no reason why you should hasten to 
return,” said her father. “I shall not be lonely, 
since our friends here will no doubt remain with 
me.” 

But Norbert also rose, saying: 

“ I must return to Paris, and if I might be per- 
mitted to attend — ” 

But Dufresne’s hand fell on his arm. 

“Will you never forget, mon ami^' he said, “that 
you are not in that fortunate country of yours, where 
les demoiselles are attended in public by young men 
and no one finds it remarkable? Here in Paris we 
are not so Arcadian in our habits and thoughts. It 
is I who must of necessity take leave, who will, to- 
gether with the good Margherita, accompany them 
as far as their destination.” 

Norbert looked at once abashed and rebellious. 
“I thought,” he said, “that we were Bohemians and 
therefore not bound by the rules of great people and 
bourgeois ? ” 

“ Every young woman is bound by certain rules, 
124 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


unless she wishes to become Bohemian in a sense 
which these young ladies certainly do not,” replied 
the painter. ''Asses! Stay you here, for I must 
go; and Mademoiselle Irma does not, I know, wish 
her father left alone.” 

“Yes,” said Irma, in a quick aside, “stay, I beg! 
I do not know what engagements Monsieur TAbbe 
may have which will take him away before my re- 
turn, and Margherita must go with me. So, unless 
it inconveniences you — ” 

“Don’t you know that I would inconvenience 
myself to any degree to do you the least service.?” 
he interrupted. “ Of course I will stay — as long 
as you wish. Don’t hasten to return.” 

He was fully rewarded by her smile of thanks; 
and when she went away, a few minutes later, she 
turned at the gate to send another smile back at the 
group sitting in the soft evening light under the 
trees. Would she ever forget the picture — her 
father waving his pipe with a gesture of gay fare- 
well to Dufresne, the Abb^ sitting beside him, 
Norbert leaning back in his chair and gazing wist- 
fully after them.? Such a familiar picture; but, 
after she had passed out of the gate, never to be 
seen again, save by the sad light of memory, in all 
the years of time. 

Two hours later, as she was coming With Mar- 
gherita out of the house near the Place de I’Etoile, 
Norbert suddenly stood before her; and one glance 
at his white, agitated face was enough to warn her 
of the news he brought. Before he could speak, she 
caught his arm. 


125 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ My father ? ” she gasped. 

Norbert put his other arm around her as a brother 
might have done. 

“He is ill,” he said gently; ‘‘and I have come 
for you. Be brave ! I have a carriage here. We 
shall reach Passy in a few moments.” 

She made only one moan, “ Oh, why did I leave 
him.?” and then, without another word, suffered 
him to hurry her into the waiting carriage, which at 
once drove off rapidly. 

A terrible instinct of the truth kept her from ask- 
ing any questions; but if there was any hope in her 
heart, it died absolutely when she saw the face of 
the Abbd Ravoux as he stood awaiting her in the 
garden gate, out of which she had passed so short a 
time before. In the sorrowful compassion of that 
countenance she read the full confirmation of her 
worst fear. 

“Yes, my child,” said the gentle, fatherly voice, 
in reply to the mute interrogation of her look; 
“God has called him. But he did not pass away 
before I had time to give him the absolution of the 
dying; and he was, as you know, well prepared for 
the summons.” 

“He has go7ie — while I was absent — without a 
word of farewell ! ” she cried in a voice of agony. 
“Ah, why did I leave him ! But I thought he was 
better. Monsieur I’Abb^, something must have oc- 
curred — something excited him — something which 
I might have prevented had I been here.” 

“No,” said the Abb6; “do not torment yourself 
with such thoughts. Nothing occurred which you 
could have prevented. We were still talking, as 
126 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


you left us; and he was saying that but for your 
sake he would never undertake a journey from which 
he so greatly shrank, when the facteur brought a 
letter. He did not read it for some time, but at 
length he said : ^ Eh^ bien ! this is from America, so 
I will see what it contains.’ He opened it, and 
after a few minutes looked up at me. There was a 
grave, troubled look on his face which I shall never 
forget. ‘Monsieur TAbbe, ’ he said, ‘I need your 
prayers. I have inherited a great fortune. ’ I began 
to offer some laughing congratulations, when sud- 
denly I saw his face change. I knew that it could 
mean but one thing. I sprang to my feet and gave 
him the absolution. He understood, glanced at me 
gratefully, and died. My child, my child, do not 
grieve so ! Only think of the goodness of God. 
With but a single pang, he has left behind the body 
of this death: passed from all that he feared and 
dreaded, from a weight that would have been too 
great for him, into the blessing forever promised to 
the poor in spirit and the pure of heart.” 


127 


BOOK III 


THE WINGS OF EROS 
I 

“ A Darracote heiress has at last ap- 

peared — materialized, one may say, since 
she has been no more than a name heretofore. Tell 
us something about her, Mr. Hastings, — do ! ” 

The speaker, a very fashionable-looking woman, held 
out a cup of tea, in a much beringed hand, to Hast- 
ings as she spoke ; and her words hushed the chatter 
of a group of persons who were gathered around her 
tea-table. They all stopped talking, as if a subject of 
universal interest had been touched ; and all looked 
at Hastings. He, on his part, looked at his hostess 
with a smile. 

“ What can I tell you, Mrs. Farrell ? ” he asked. 
“ I have not seen her myself I know from good 
evidence that she has arrived, but she is no more 
than a name to me yet.” 

*‘You have not seen her!” cried Mrs. Farrell, 
almost incredulously. “ Why, she has been at Argyle 
for several days, has she not ? ” 

“ She arrived with Mrs. Treherne last Thursday.” 

“ Then — forgive me if I am inquisitive, but we are 
all immensely interested, you know — how does it 
happen that you have not seen her, you who have 
128 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

the claim of such long and intimate friendship with 
her — uncle, was n’t he ? ” 

Only her cousin. But even if the relationship 
had been nearer, you must remember that he was no 
more than a name to her, and that / am hardly even 
that. Therefore when I called soon after her arrival, 
and Mrs. Treherne excused her on the plea of still 
feeling the effects of her voyage, I had no right to be 
surprised. So, like the rest of the world, I must wait 
until she is pleased to manifest herself.” 

“But you can tell us something about her, Mr. 
Hastings,” said a girl with masses of red-brown hair 
under a graceful picture-hat. “ One hears so many 
contradictory things. Is it true that she is a wonder- 
ful singer, and that she was about to appear on the 
operatic stage when Mr. Darracote died and the 
fortune came to her?” 

“ Or is it true that, being an ardent Catholic, she 
wanted to enter a convent, and that she will convert 
Argyle into a religious house and perhaps found an 
order?” supplemented another voice. 

“ Or is she engaged to a young artist in Paris, — 
unknown, but excessively clever, — and will she marry 
him, and devote her fortune to his theories of art?” 
inquired another lady, leaning forward out of a dusky 
corner, so that the firelight played on her thin, deli- 
cate face, full of animation and refinement. 

“ And, finally,” chimed in a masculine voice, “ is it 
true that her father was a half-insane sculptor, who 
married a model of the Quartier Latin?” 

Hastings calmly finished his cup of tea before re- 
plying to any of these questions. Then his glance of 
satiric amusement swept the circle. 

9 129 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ May I inquire,” he said, “ where this large and 
very varied information concerning Miss Darracote 
comes from? ” 

“I can tell you,” said Mrs. Farrell, with a laugh. 
“ It all comes from the American colony in Paris. 
Xhey — I mean the members of the colony — had 
never heard of Miss Darracote until Eleanor Treherne 
introduced her to a few people last summer. Since 
then everybody who comes back from the other side 
brings a new story about her. You ’ll all confess ” 
her glance, like Hastings’, swept the group — “ that 
you heard these things in Paris, or from somebody 
who has been in Paris this summer? ” 

“ Why, of course,” said Lucia Wynne, the girl of 
the picture-hat. “ Where else should they come 
from? I wasn’t in Paris myself this summer, but 
numbers of my friends were, and they all say there 
were many stories afloat regarding this mysterious 
heiress, but nobody really knew anything about her. 
But you must know something, Mr. Hastings, some- 
thing accurate; so please make haste and tell us.” 

“ But I have already told you that, like the 
American colony in Paris, I have never seen her,” 
Hastings replied, with an air of provoking reserve. 

“ But you know the real facts about her,” observed 
the lady in the shadowy corner ; “ and, since you 
hear what contradictory stories are afloat, I think you 
owe it to her to tell these facts.” 

“Yes, Hastings,” chimed in the masculine voice 
which had spoken before ; “ you should really feel it 
a conscientious obligation to gratify our curiosity.” 

Hastings paid no attention to the last speaker — 
a tall, loosely built young man, with a long, clean- 
130 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


shaven face, clever, conceited, ugly, and attractive all 
at once, — who was lounging in a low chair beside the 
lady in the corner; but directed his reply to the 
latter. 

“ Probably you are right, Mrs. Lawton. It does 
seem a little hard that so many absurdities should 
be afloat about one unoffending young woman ; and 
yet it is almost a pity to destroy romances which 
prove so much bold inventiveness on the part of 
those who invented them. I am afraid, too, that the 
facts for which you ask will sound very tame.” 

“ Nevertheless, let us have them,” said Mrs. Farrell. 
“ If they are tame, they will not be the better for 
being so long delayed.” 

“ Briefly, then,” said Hastings, “ the young lady in 
question is the daughter of the cousin to whom our 
old friend, Mr. Darracote, left the bulk of his fortune, 
— a sculptor, who from his earliest youth lived 
abroad. He must have possessed great talent, per- 
haps even genius; but he was so eccentric as to care 
very little, or not at all, for fame or for making 
money. Hence one perceives the natural outgrowth 
of the opinion, repeated by Rapier here, that he was 
' half-insane.’ ” 

“ What else could one call a man who did not care 
either for fame or for money?” inquired Rapier. “ If 
the rest of what we have heard comes as near the 
truth, I can’t perceive much ‘ bold inventiveness ’ in 
the stories.” 

“ He married,” Hastings went on, ignoring the in- 
terruption, “ an Italian lady, who died early, leaving 
this daughter to whom he was devoted. They lived, 
I believe, very much in seclusion, with only certain 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


artistic and what we would call Bohemian associations ; 
so it is not surprising that the American colony did 
not know them. I have never heard that the daugh- 
ter had either musical or religious ambitions. She 
was, however, very deeply attached to her father; 
and his sudden death — he died of heart disease just 
after reading the letter giving the news of his inheri- 
tance — was such a shock and grief to her that it was 
found necessary to divert her mind and restore her 
health by several months of travel before she could 
come over and take possession of her kingdom. The 
executors of Mr. Darracote’s will asked Mrs. Treherne 
to go and take charge of her, and Mrs. Treherne 
went.” There was a moment’s pause. “ I think,” 
the speaker added reflectively, “ that is all I know.” 

“ It was a great opportunity for Eleanor Treherne,” 
said Mrs. Farrell, leaning back in her chair. “ It 
seemed at first as if she had been left entirely out in 
the cold, as far as the Darracote fortune was con- 
cerned — for what is a paltry fifteen hundred a year 
to her? But fate has interposed in her favor. She 
is back at Argyle, with her social prestige not only 
unimpaired, but heightened by having an heiress to 
bring out, a girl without social experience or social 
connections, who will be, no doubt, like wax in her 
hands. It is a situation full of possibilities for a 
clever woman, and Eleanor is a very clever woman.” 

Yes,” said Lucia Wynne, after a silence which no 
one else seemed disposed to break. “There is no 
doubt that Mrs. Treherne is very clever, but do you 
think she will like having an heiress to bring out? 
One can’t fancy Mrs. Treherne sinking into a chaperon 
— can one exactly?” 


132 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


She, in turn, glanced around the circle of fire-lit 
figures, — for the winter afternoon was closing in, — 
and a low, general laugh answered her. 

“ I am quite sure,” said Mrs. Lawton, her thin, 
delicate face and fair hair standing out more effec- 
tively than ever against the gathering shadows, “ that 
we need not trouble ourselves to fancy Mrs. Treherne 
sinking into a chaperon; for she is not in the least 
likely to do anything of the kind. If the heiress is 
not of remarkable material, she will play a very sub- 
ordinate second part to Eleanor Treherne’s first, or 
else the association will quickly end.” 

“ You mean that Mrs. Treherne will never bear 
being overshadowed?” asked Rapier — who, for all 
his boyish looks, was a writer of ability and considera- 
ble reputation, — glancing up at the prophetess. 

She began to draw her furs around her shoulders, 
and did not answer for a moment. Then she said 
carelessly : 

“ I mean that I have known Eleanor Treherne all 
my life, and I have never known her play a second 
part to any one under any circumstances ; and it is 
‘ by the past one shadows forth the future,’ is n’t it ? ” 

“ Quite so,” he answered, laughing. “ The ques- 
tion, therefore, is, what will that unknown quantity, 
the heiress, prove to be? Will she be content to 
play the second part for which you have cast her? 
By the by, Hastings, the only story you forgot to 
dispose of was the story of the artist lover. Are we 
to have no information on that point?” 

“ Oh, yes, Mr. Hastings ! ” cried Lucia Wynne. 

That is the most interesting point of all. Tell us, 
is it true? — has she an artist lover?” 

133 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

‘‘ My dear Miss Wynne, what a question ! ” said 
Hastings. “What should I know of Miss Darra- 
cote’s love affairs? She may have a dozen artist 
lovers, for aught I know. I can only say that, if so, 
nothing has officially transpired respecting any one 
of them.” 

“ Officially transpired ! ” repeated the girl. “ I 
suppose I am very rude to be so pressing, but — has 
nothing transpired unofficially?” 

“ Ah ! there I confess that you ask more than I 
am able to answer. How can I tell what confidences 
may have been given — unofficially? I can only 
assure you that, if so, none of those confidences have 
reached me.” 

“ Then we may be sure that none have been given,” 
said Mrs. Farrell, with decision. “Eleanor Treherne 
would never have kept such interesting information 
to herself.” 

“Probably not,” returned Hastings. He rose as 
he spoke and held out his hand to his hostess. “ I 
hope that when I see you again I may be able to 
give more satisfactory information concerning the 
heiress,” he said ; “ I am aware that I have been 
altogether unsatisfactory this afternoon.” 

“Well, he was unsatisfactory,” Lucia Wynne re- 
marked after he had passed from the room. “But 
perhaps he could not help it. I suppose that he told 
us all that he really knew.” 

She looked as if for assent at Mrs. Farrell, but that 
lady wore a doubtful aspect. 

“ Impossible to say,” she answered. “ He is rather 
a strange person, Gerard Hastings. I have never 
known him tell anything which he did not wish to 

134 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


tell. In other words, one can never surprise him into 
an indiscretion.” 

This seemed to be also the opinion of Mrs. Lawton, 
who had taken leave at the same time as Hastings, 
and whom he was at that moment putting into her 
carriage at the door. 

“ You were very discreet,” she said to him. How 
is it that you missed your vocation in life? You 
should have been a diplomatist, Mr. Hastings. Ap- 
parent frankness and real reticence — is n’t that the 
diplomatic ideal?” 

“ You are very kind,” he; responded, holding for a 
moment the hand she offered him. “If every one 
were like yourself, frankness might become real and 
reticence would be unnecessary.” 

“ I am afraid that is diplomatic flattery,” she said. 
“ But there is something I want to say to you.” She 
hesitated an instant, then lifted to his face a pair of 
gray eyes as clear and candid as the soul they 
mirrored. “ You told us very little about the heiress,” 
she went on ; “ but what you did tell made me feel 
sorry for her. It seems absurd, perhaps, to be sorry 
for one for whom the world is opening so brilliantly. 
But she seems very desolate — to have lost by death 
all that she possessed, and to have now no friend but 
Eleanor Treherne — ” She paused again, and he saw 
that a crystal mist had risen to her eyes, as if at the 
image her own words evoked. “ The point is this,” 
she added. “ If I can be of any service to her, I want 
you to promise to let me know. It would give me 
real happiness if I could help her in any manner in 
this new, strange life she has entered upon.” 

“ I give the promise with the greatest pleasure,” 

135 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Hastings replied earnestly. And I understand the 
kindness which prompts you to make such an offer. 

I have not seen Miss Darracote as yet, and I really 
told the truth in saying that I know nothing except 
the outside facts of her life. Her position at present 
is pathetic or enviable according to the light by which 
she regards it. When I know something of that light, 
will you let me come and tell you about her? I 
promise that I will not be diplomatic at all. 

“ Come, certainly,” she said eagerly. “ I shall 
expect your report with the greatest interest. And, 
now, can’t I set you down somewhere ? ” 

He declined and drew back, lifting his hat as the 
carriage rolled away. Then, as he walked down the 
street, he said to himself that it was like Clare Lawton 
to have taken such a view of the position of this young 
heiress whom all the world was envying. She — the 
possessor of those clear, sad gray eyes — knew how 
little wealth and luxury could do to fill a lonely life 
or soothe an aching heart. Ten years before, when 
the husband whom she idolized had been taken from 
her in the second year of their married life, the world 
had prophesied speedy consolation for one so young 
and so richly endowed with the gifts of fortune ; but 
now even the most worldly recognized that for her 
there would be no second story. She had at last 
emerged from long seclusion and taken her place 
again in society ; but there was a line drawn around 
her which even the dullest felt and which the boldest 
might not pass. It was as if she only touched the 
life amid which she moved with the surface of her be- 
ing, while her inner self had its existence far away, in 
some other and very different region. Now and 
136 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

again, however, to those who knew her best a glimpse 
of this self was vouchsafed; and such a glimpse 
Hastings felt had been given to him just now. 

And, strange to say, — yet not strange, perhaps, 
m view of the selfishness of human nature, — her 
words roused in him the first real thought which he 
had given to the girl at Argyle. He had, of course, 
thought of her, and thought much, as a possibility, 
a pawn in his game of life; but of herself, without 
relation to his interest, he had not thought at all. 
And yet the few cold and unsympathetic words 
which he had spoken regarding her had so touched 
Mrs. Lawton as to bring the lovely mist of tears, 
which he recalled as something altogether unex- 
pected and exquisite, to her eyes when she spoke 
of the picture they suggested. Now he, too, per- 
ceived that it was indeed pathetic, the position of 
this girl, inheriting wealth at the same moment that 
she inheiited sorrow; bereft of her only parent, a 
stranger in a strange land,; the object solely of in- 
terested speculation to all around her, and with 
Eleanor Treherne for her only friend ! 

And who knew better than himself how much 
pathos the last touch added ! Who had ever more 
thoroughly gauged that nature, at once so hard, so 
light, so mercenary, and so insincere, with such depth 
of selfishness, such shallowness of feeling! What 
irony of fate to send this woman to the side of the 
motherless girl at the moment when a new life was 
opening for her, to make her the guide for the young 
spirit entering on an unknown world ! It seemed to 
Hastings that Clare Lawton’s word of insight and 
sympathy had suddenly opened his eyes. 

137 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ It is the last thing Mr. Darracote would have 
desired,” he thought, with a passing emotion of self- 
reproach for the forgetfulness of his old friend — the 
friend who had dealt so generously by him — into 
which he had fallen. Nothing certainly had been 
farther from his intention than that Mrs. Treherne 
should remain virtual mistress of Argyle, with a 
pliant, inexperienced girl in her hands to sway and 
bend to her will and her interest. And yet he, 
Hastings, had allowed this thing to happen for lack 
of a word spoken in time ! He remembered that 
he had felt contemptuously indifferent when it was 
proposed by the executors of Mr. Darracote’s will 
to send Mrs. Treherne over to France to take charge 
of the desolate young heiress. Let her have a little 
more profit out of the connection, had been the 
thought in his mind, — what difference did it make? 
When the heiress came he would act as pleased him. 
Meanwhile Mrs. Treherne, who was, with all her 
faults, an accomplished woman of the world, could 
be employed to give the right cachet to this crude 
girl from Bohemia. 

And when the other day she had made difficulties 
with regard to his seeing Miss Darracote, he had 
merely smiled to himself at the folly which fancied 
she could frustrate his will when he chose to exert 
it. Just then he was indolent, indifferent, a little 
averse, if the truth be told, to meeting one in whom 
personally he felt not the slightest interest. So he 
had allowed the matter to . pass, secure in the cer- 
tainty that whenever he pleased to see the heiress he 
would see her, let Mrs. Treherne say or think what 
she pleased. But now — 

138 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Well, now a word, a touch, had come, and he 
suddenly saw that he must rouse himself. For the 
sake of his old friend if for no other reason, he 
must see the girl whom his awakened fancy painted 
as a figure so lonely and so pathetic amid the new 
splendors of her lot. And after he had seen her 
he would know what course to take with Eleanor 
Treherne. 


II 



HE next day, having come out for a few hours 


JL to the cottage, where he did not live at this 
season, Hastings prepared to go to Argyle by the 
private path across the grounds, which he knew so 
well and had so often followed. 

It was a crisp, clear, but not very cold winter 
day; the pale blue sky and pale sunshine full of the 
sense of nature’s lessened energy, yet with a certain 
charm for one able to perceive it. The same 
charm was to be felt in the wide grounds of Argyle, 
in the ordered care which pervaded every part of 
them, together with the complete absence of any 
color save the deep, sombre green of the pines and 
firs, and the long lines of evergreen hedges enclos- 
ing spaces where at another season luxuriant bloom 
rioted, but where now not a flower blossomed or leaf 
budded. The delicate tracery of bare boughs stood 
out with the clearness which is one of the most ex- 
quisite effects in a winter landscape, against the pale 
sky, where in summer were masses of rich foliage 
and depths of inviting shade; and the cold gray- 
green tint of the wide stretches of sward conveyed 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

the same suggestion of suspended force, of life rest- 
ing but not dead. It was a scene in which every- 
thing was toned to a low key, and yet full of a 
deeply penetrating beauty. 

As Hastings passed along the familiar paths, he 
was conscious of this subtle and austere charm ; but 
he was not prepared to come suddenly upon a figure 
which was altogether in harmony with it. Turning 
a corner in a part of the gardens most thickly set 
with shrubbery, he saw before him a sheltered nook 
filled with the afternoon sunlight; and, seated on a 
rustic bench placed against a great clump of ever- 
greens, a girl dressed in deep mourning, her eyes 
bent upon a book which lay open on her lap, while 
one hand strayed unconsciously to and fro over the 
upturned head of a beautiful collie beside her. The 
low, level gold of the sunlight fell over the slender 
form in its sable dress, bringing its delicate grace 
into strong relief against the deep-green background ; 
and instinctively Hastings paused, as if he had 
strayed into a privacy where he had no right to 
intrude. Charmed, attracted, he hesitated, — reluc- 
tant to advance, still more unwilling to retire. It 
is possible, however, that he would have retired, 
had not his hesitation been ended by the unabsorbed 
member of the group. The dog, catching the sound 
of a footstep, turned his head with a quick move- 
ment. The next instant he bounded forward, eager 
to greet a friend. 

“There, Rex! — there, good doggie!” said Hast- 
ings, endeavoring to subdue the ardor of this greet- 
ing. And then putting the dog aside with one hand, 
he lifted his hat with the other, as he advanced to 
140 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


where the lady sat, motionless with surprise, her 
eyes raised from her book. 

‘H am sure,” he said, ^^that I have the pleasure 
of seeing Miss Darracote. My name is Hastings. 
May I hope that you have heard of me } ” 

If he expected some loss of self-possession on her 
part from his sudden appearance, he found himself 
mistaken, for her manner could not have been more 
unembarrassed had he been the most familiar of 
visitors. She rose to her feet. 

'^Yes,” she answered,. “I have heard of Mr. 
Hastings as a friend of my cousin, Mr. Darracote.” 

^‘That old friendship,” said Hastings, ‘^and the 
fact that I am your next neighbor, must plead my 
excuse for this intrusion. I have been so long 
accustomed to approaching Argyle by this private 
way that I have perhaps forgotten that with the reign 
of a new sovereign privileges fall into abeyance, 
unless graciously renewed.” 

“I should be sorry for you to think that any such 
privilege needed renewal,” she said. “Your old 
friendship surely gives you a right here. ” 

“ Not at all, ” he replied quickly. “ My old friend- 
ship gives me no rights here — only, as I have said, 
some privileges, if you are kind enough to recognize 
them.” 

“ I am very glad to recognize them,” she answered, 
her soft, dark eyes meeting him as she spoke with 
the most direct gaze. “ The last thing which I could 
possibly wish to do would be to destroy for any one 
any link of affection or memory with the past. I 
am glad you have come to Argyle in the manner 
you have always been accustomed to come,” 

141 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


You are more than kind,” he returned. ‘‘ I, too, 
am glad, since it has enabled me to — shall I say, 
surprise your acquaintance ^ ” 

“ Why should you fancy it was necessary to sur- 
prise it ^ ” she asked with something of the same 
emotion in her tone. 

** Only because I was disappointed in seeing you 
when I called the other day, and as you are cer- 
tainly ‘out,’ in more than the conventional sense at 
present, I might have been equally unfortunate to- 
day, if I had approached the door of Argyle from the 
direction proper for visitors.” 

Miss Darracote smiled. “It is possible,” she 
admitted, “that might have been the result, since 
I left no word where I was to be found. And you 
would have been doubly disappointed, for Mrs. Tre- 
herne is not at home this afternoon.” 

“I did not come to see Mrs. Treherne,” said 
Hastings, more bluntly than he often spoke. “I 
came to see yourself, and I should have been deeply 
disappointed if for the second time I had failed to 
see you.” 

“Then it is fortunate that you chanced to come 
this way, or that Rex perceived you,” she said. 
“And now we will go in.” 

“ I dislike very much to take you in — only, 
really, I fear that it is not prudent to sit out-doors 
in this climate at this season. You are not in Italy, 
you know.” 

“Alas! I know very well,” she said with a slight 
sigh. “ But even here I like to be out of doors when 
it is not too cold. Sitting in the sunshine was 
pleasant, though perhaps not prudent. At all 
142 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


events, I will not ask you to sit down with me. 
Come, Rex!” 

The dog bounded to her side, pushing his nose up 
into her hand as he did so for a caress ; and, glanc- 
ing at him, Hastings said : 

“ I see that you have won the heart of at least one 
adherent of the past. This collie was Mr. Darra- 
cote’s close companion and most faithful mourner. 

I was afraid that he would die of grief — dogs do, 
you know — and I tried to take him away. But, 
though he knows and likes me, he could not at- 
tach himself to me in the exclusive fashion that 
alone can satisfy the canine heart. I am glad that 
he has attached himself to you, and is therefore 
comforted.” 

Yes; we made friends at once,” Irma responded. 
“There was something of sympathy between us, no 
doubt. We were both lonely creatures. ” 

A note of unconscious sadness in her voice 
struck Hastings’ ear, and renewed that sense of 
pathos which had been first wakened within him by 
Mrs. Lawton’s words. He seemed to see her arriv- 
ing at the empty house, where only one faithful 
heart — and that a dog’s — kept the memory of the 
master who had gone; and he fancied how the two, 
out of their very loneliness, found comfort together; 
for an instinct assured him clearly that there was 
more comfort to be found even in the love of a dog 
than in the companionship of Eleanor Treherne. 

During the brief silence which followed he looked 
with critical intentness at his companion, and de- 
cided that the first impression conveyed to him by 
her presence — the impression of something alto- 
143 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


gether exquisite and refined — was strengthened and 
deepened. Her beauty charmed his eye; but even 
more than her beauty he was struck with her air, 
as of one uplifted and remote from common and 
trivial things. It was not only that she moved with- 
out the faintest trace of self-consciousness, — that 
badge of inferior natures, as well as of inferior 
training, — but he read this aloofness of spirit in the 
direct glance of her eyes and the serene indifference 
of her manner. 

It was not often that a woman possessed her 
quietude so unmoved in his presence. There was 
usually a flutter, a movement of interest of one kind 
or another. Even the most flattered women yielded 
to his vanity this involuntary homage, — a homage 
he had grown accustomed to expect, and the absence 
of which at present struck him with a surprise by no 
means agreeable. Evidently this girl from Bohemia 
found nothing in him to excite interest; for it was 
plain that her courtesy was purely perfunctory, and 
paid not to himself — Gerard Hastings — but to the 
old friend of the dead master of Argyle. Well, he 
must see if he could not move this quietude, if he 
could not rouse a thrill of interest. It should be 
easy to do so; and yet, glancing again at the deli- 
cate, high-bred face, he almost smiled to think that 
perhaps it was not so easy. The sense of difficulty, 
the consciousness of indifference, piqued him to an 
effort he might not else have made. 

‘‘I hope,” he said, answering her last words, after 
a pause which was greater in his consciousness than 
in reality, that you will not long be able to speak 
of yourself as lonely. There are, I assure you, 
144 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Miss Darracote, many friends here waiting to wel- 
come you. ” 

Many possible acquaintances, perhaps,” she re- 
plied, '‘but I doubt if there are any friends.” 
Then, as if with a thought that this was not very 
gracious, she added quickly, "There is so much 
necessary for friendship in any real sense — sym- 
pathy of tastes and ideas, most of all.” 

"And do you despair of finding such sympathy.^” 
Hastings asked. 

"It would be an exaggeration to say that I 
despair, but I think it improbable that I shall find 
it,” she returned quietly. "I have not been long 
in this new world, — I mean, the world of my new 
life, — but it has been long enough to learn that 
I have very little in common with those whom I 
meet.” 

"But is not your acquaintance in this world as yet 
extremely limited ? ” 

"It is not very extended, but I fancy quite 
typical.” 

" Oh, if you make up your mind against us ! ” said 
Hastings, in a tone of protest. " But why should 
you do thsit? After all, people like each other for 
certain human qualities, rather than because they 
think alike on abstract subjects, — literature and art, 
for example.” 

"It is certainly not necessary for them to think 
alike on literature and art,” she answered, "but 
there are many more important subjects on which it 
seems to me that agreement zs necessary. For 
instance, the standards and objects of life — when 
people think very differently about those things, 
10 145 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


there is a deep gulf between them which sympathy 
and comprehension cannot cross.” 

‘‘The older I grow,” said Hastings, who found 
himself a good deal astonished by the turn of the 
conversation, “the more firmly I believe that there 
are very few gulfs which sympathy and comprehen- 
sion cannot cross.” 

“It may be that I stand convicted of imperfect 
sympathy, then,” she said, smiling. “ But, you see,” 
— the note of unconscious pathos came again into 
her voice, — “the world of my old life was so dif- 
ferent that no doubt I am badly spoiled. There I 
lived always in an atmosphere of sympathy, not only 
with my father, but with our friends. Of course we 
did not always think alike, — that would be very 
stupid, — ^but there is sympathy in difference when 
people think in the same way about essential mat- 
ters, when they take interest in the same things, and 
have the same standards and objects in life.” 

“I readily understand,” said Hastings, “that 
there is a very great difference between the world 
you have left and that which you have entered, and 
I also understand that these differences strike you 
with great force because you have stepped so imme- 
diately from the one into the other. It is not often, ” 
he added lightly, “that a princess of Thule comes to 
us, and I should like to know how our standards and 
objects appear to her.” 

The princess of Thule shook her head. 

“You had better not ask,” she said. “I am 
afraid that if I answer I shall seem very rude.” 

“If there is anything I value in life,” he de- 
clared, “ it is the candor which is sometimes incor- 
146 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


rectly called rudeness. Besides, if you have any 
dreadful revelation to make, I shall have brought it 
on myself, and I may add that I am not at all thin- 
skinned.” 

“I have no dreadful revelation to make,” she 
answered. “What strikes me in this world is 
simply that money seems to be the only object of 
worship, and amusement the only end of existence,” 

“A rather severe indictment.” 

“But is it not true.?” she asked, turning toward 
him with a look so vivid that it impressed him 
with a sense of the dramatic possibilities of her 
beauty. “As you remind me, I have not met a 
great many people, but those whom I have met 
have talked in a manner to indicate that it is 
true.” 

“In a certain degree no doubt it is true,” he con- 
ceded. “But may not pretty much the same thing 
be said of the rest of the world .? If there are any 
Arcadias existing where men do not worship money, 
nor pursue pleasure, I confess that I have never 
found them. ” 

“You may not believe me,” she said, “but it is 
nevertheless true that I have spent all my life in 
such an Arcadia — if you like to call it so. In the 
world in which I have lived it is of no importance 
whether a man does or does not possess money. 
Superiority of genius is the only superiority recog- 
nized, and the man who uses his genius for purposes 
of money-making is held in contempt.” 

“The geniuses of whom you speak must preserve 
a very strict seclusion,” said Hastings, in a* tone of 
sarcasm very familiar to his friends, “for the world 

147 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


does not credit artists generally with such high 
ideals or austere practices. It has been my good 
fortune to know many men of reputation in art and 
letters, but while I have frequently found them 
agreeable, I have never found them indifferent to 
the two great gods of the world of which you have 
spoken.” 

“That is very likely,” she returned. “I have 
heard my father say that even among artists there 
is always such a class; but neither he nor his friends 
-* belonged to it. The world,” said she, with an accent 
of delicate pride, “had no price with which to buy 
my father. ” 

There was a moment’s silence, for Hastings felt 
that the conversation had touched a point of such 
deep difference that unless he wished to be, per- 
haps irrevocably, included in the number of those 
with whom Miss Darracote had declared sympathy 
on her part to be impossible, he must make a 
diversion. 

The opportunity to do so came as they emerged 
from the gardens, and saw before them the stately, 
picturesque mass of the house, set in the midst of 
its wide lawns, with its windows shining and twink- 
ling in the level gold of the low sunlight. 

“ I have always thought this the best view of the 
house,” he said. “What a beautiful place it is! 
Surely, Miss Darracote, there is some pleasure for 
you in feeling yourself mistress of anything so 
charming as Argyle.? ” 

Irma’s glance followed his own and dwelt for an 
instant on the picture before them. Then she said 
gently : 


148 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“Yes, it is a beautiful place. I never look at it 
without thinking that if one had any associations 
with it one might become deeply attached to it. 
But, you see, I have none. I look at it with the 
eyes of a stranger.” 

“The eyes of the owner can hardly be called 
those of a stranger,” he said. 

But as the eyes of which he spoke turned toward 
him, he read in their soft depths something which 
made him understand her meaning as she answered : 

“ I have no sense of being the owner, but only of 
being, as I have said, a stranger and an accident. ” 

A few moments later they were entering the 
spacious hall, and Hastings was following Irma 
across it, not to the drawing-room, but to the 
library. 

“ I like this room so much better than any other 
in the house,” she said, “that I have made it my 
sitting-room, and really ieel at home in no other. 
Mrs. Treherne does not agree with me. She says 
that it is gloomy, but I do not think so. ” 

A gleam of amusement shone in Hastings’ eyes 
as he glanced around the apartment, with its rich, 
quiet tones and book-lined walls. 

“It is not the kind of room I can imagine Mrs. 
Treherne liking,” he replied, “but I have always 
thought it delightful. It was Mr. Darracote’s room, 
and I may safely say the only one in which he felt 
at home.” 

“Ah! that accounts for it — the difference, I 
mean,” said the girl, as she advanced toward the 
open fire, which made a centre of radiance and 
149 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


warmth under the great carved mantel. I have felt 
that there was a human atmosphere here which the 
rest of the house seemed to lack. I think I should 
have liked the man who created this room and felt at 
home in it,” she added with a smile. 

'*I am sure he would have liked jyoti,” answered 
Hastings, in a tone of unmistakable sincerity. 

His eyes dwelt, as he spoke, on the slender figure, 
with its grace and distinction, and on the lovely 
face; while he framed the futile wish that Mr. Dar- 
racote could have known what presence would follow 
his in the library he loved, and on which he had so 
stamped his individuality that his presence seemed 
still to linger in it, his face almost to rise out of 
the depths of the russet leather chair where he was 
accustomed to sit. 

It was in this chair that Irma now sat down. 

“I am very much pleased if you really think so,” 
she said. “ Here among his books, I have thought 
of him very often and tried to fancy what he was 
like. It seems sad that in his own home no one 
remembers him with anything of affection, or even” 
— she hesitated — '‘with kindness.” 

Hastings’ face grew a little stern. 

“There are those who should remember him not 
only with kindness but with gratitude,” he said. 
“As a simple matter of justice, let me beg you not 
to take your idea of Mr. Darracote from what Mrs. 
Treherne may say of him. As you have learned, 
there are natures so unsympathetic that liking be- 
tween them is impossible, and such natures were 
those two. Yet this did not prevent Mr. Darracote 
from giving Mrs. Treherne the shelter of his protec- 

150 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


tion at a time when she greatly needed it, and from 
dealing with her very generously throughout.” 

Irma looked at the speaker with a quick glance of 
approval. 

'‘I am glad you have said this, for it seems only 
justice that I, who take a child’s place in his house, 
should think of him rightly,” she answered. “But 
don’t fancy that I have listened, or that I would 
listen, to anything which really did him wrong. 
No one has said anything of that kind. But there is 
a manner of speaking of a person which conveys an 
impression — an idea — ” ^ 

“ I know exactly the kind of idea which has been 
conveyed to you, — that of a man hard, cold, dis- 
agreeable, with no attractive qualities whatever.” 

“Yes, I must confess it is very much that idea 
which has been given me.” 

“ Let me assure you, then, that it is an idea 
which does Mr. Darracote great injustice. He was 
not a man whom it was easy to know ; but under 
apparent hardness and coldness he possessed a great 
deal of deep feeling. People whom he did not like 
found him caustic and sarcastic. But to those whom 
he did like he was a most interesting companion, 
shrewd, humorous, and with a very sincere love of 
literature, as his books indicate.” 

“ What a sympathetic picture you draw of him ! ” 
said Irma. “ I am very glad that we chanced to touch 
on the subject. Now I shall know how to think of 
him in future, when I am here alone with his books.” 

“You are a very harmonious presence among 
them,” said Hastings. “ I can fancy him pleasantly 
at home in the atmosphere you have created.” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“Then you feel a change? ” she said, a little wist- 
fully. “I am sorry. I did not wish to disturb 
anything.” 

“You have disturbed nothing: you have only 
added a few adorning touches,” he answered. 

His glance turned toward the touches of which he 
spoke, — some bowls of flowers on the massive library 
table; a piece of needlework with an Italian book 
open beside it; a low, graceful tea-table in a corner 
near the fire. There was, as he said, nothing dis- 
turbing in any of these things. They harmonized 
with the studious quiet of the stately room, like the 
presence of the girl who had chosen this library as 
the setting of her life in preference to any of the 
bright, luxurious apartments which most women 
would have preferred. 

“Sometimes adornments are impertinences,” she 
said. “ I have not meant to add anything of the kind. 
But flowers are a necessity of life to me — or, at 
least, they are its greatest luxury. When nothing 
seemed more unlikely than that I should ever become 
rich, I used to say that if ever I were, I would have 
flowers in abundance all the time. The satisfaction 
of that desire is the only pleasure wealth has 
brought me so far.” 

The words were evidently spoken without the least 
thought of effect, but to Hastings they seemed at 
once surprising and pathetic. He smiled, half 
touched, half amused. 

It is pleasant to think that it will bring you 
many more,” he said. 

“ Will it ? ” she asked quietly. “ What ? ” 

The very simplicity of the question seemed for a 
152 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

moment to deprive him of the power to answer it. 
How could a man begin to answer anything so 
widely comprehensive and at the same time expres- 
sive of an unworldliness so great as to be incredible.? 

‘Hf it is possible,” he said, “that you are in ear- 
nest in asking what wealth can bring you, I can only 
reply by saying — everything! You have surely 
lived in a veritable Arcadia if you do not know that 
he who possesses it has the world at his feet.” 

“I have already told you in what kind of Arcadia 
I have lived,” she said. “It was one in which 
money could buy very little, except, of course, a 
certain degree of comfort and independence of life. 
Beyond that, I ask again, in all sincerity, what can 
it give.? ” 

“Pleasure, admiration, luxury; the power to grat- 
ify every desire, even every whim ; to transport 
yourself at will from one end of the world to the 
other; to live where and with whom you like, — in 
short, to command all the varied joys, and advan- 
tages in which the world abounds,” replied the man 
of the world, unhesitatingly. 

The girl did not answer for a moment, but sat 
with her dark eyes fastened on the glowing depths of 
the fire, as if meditating upon his words. Then she 
said, with the same quietness: 

“ My father always told me that there was not only 
no lasting gratification in these things, but that 
those who pursued them lost in the end the power 
of enjoying anything. And my own observation, 
since I have been in a world where people live only 
to amuse themselves, has assured me that he was 
right.” 


153 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


fear,” said Hastings, “that you have been very 
unfortunate in your associations in this world.” 

She turned her eyes on him. 

“Will you pardon me, if I am personal for a 
moment.?” she said. “Will you allow me to ask 
what is your experience .? ” 

“Oh, you must not appeal to me!” he replied 
with a slight laugh. “ I have been in the world a 
long time, and — well, I have no doubt my friends 
would tell you that I am very cynical and blas^” 
“Are there many things which amuse you.? ” 

“ I am afraid that I must confess that there are 
very few.” 

“And yet no doubt you have had the power to 
gratify all your wishes and tastes.? ” 

“ Again I must confess that I have had the power 
to a degree rather uncommon. I have lived chiefly 
abroad, — for in this strenuous country there is no 
place for an idle man, — and I have consistently 
spent my life in doing those things which com- 
mended themselves as agreeable and likely to give 
me pleasure. I am one of a class which the workers 
of the world, especially my esteemed friends who are 
wearing out their bodies, brains, and nerves in piling 
up millions they can never spend, call contemptu- 
ously epicureans.” 

“ And the end of it all is — .? ” 

“ Why do you wish to force me to further confes- 
sions, and make me point a moral for your theories .? 
I would much prefer to show you how many pleas- 
ures await you, and to convince you how charming 
life can be to one who is young, rich, and beautiful.” 
“ I have never doubted that life is full of possibili- 

154 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

ties of interest and pleasure,” she answered. ''But 
I hardly think that any of them — or very few — will 
be bought by the wealth which has come to me so 
unexpectedly. Indeed, if I thought that I should 
ever become dependent on it for happiness, I would 
give it away at once, before it could accomplish its 
work.” 

"You must not do that,” said Hastings, im- 
pressed, greatly to his own surprise, with an abso- 
lute conviction of her sincerity; "for wealth is a 
great power, and should not be lightly cast aside. 
Wait, and in time, believe' me, you will find more 
than sufficient use for it. Meanwhile let nie say 
that I am glad my old friend made no mistake in 
that last will and testament of his; and that his 
home and his fortune have found a mistress who 
would be, I am sure, altogether after his own 
heart. ” 

"I am afraid,” she said, looking up at him as he 
rose and stood before her, "that I should not be 
altogether after his own heart; but I do believe — I 
have had an instinct ever since I first entered this 
room — that we would have liked each other, and 
been sympathetic in spite of differences.” 

"And is it asking too much to hope that you will 
extend as much as that to one whose only claim to 
ask it is the friendship of the past between his 
name and yours.?” Hastings inquired, offering his 
hand with the grace of manner which many people 
— women especially — had found irresistible. "I 
don’t forget that you have decided that no one in 
this frivolous, mercenary world is worthy to be your 
friend — ” 


155 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ Mr. Hastings, is it kind to make me feel that I 
have been very rude ? ” 

Not for an instant did I intend or wish to make 
you feel so ! ” Hastings protested. “ I acknowledge 
the truth of your indictments both in general and in 
particular, but I too have instincts, and one of these 
instincts tells me that we may ‘ like each other 
and be sympathetic in spite of differences.’ ” 

With an air of charming cordiality, Irma placed 
her hand in his. 

“I am sure of it,” she said frankly, “else we 
could not have talked as we have at our first 
meeting.” 

“ And if I come soon — very soon again — you 
will not think that I am presuming on your 
kindness } ” 

“ On the contrary. But you must not go until I 
have given you a cup of tea. I fancied Mrs. Tre- 
herne would have returned by this time.” 

Hastings, not in the least anxious to meet Mrs. 
Treherne, was about to decline the cup of tea which 
might entail such a meeting, when the familiar 
voice, with its light, artificial ring, spoke suddenly 
behind him. 

“ ' Talk of angels ’ — ! Here I am, my dear, tired 
and longing for a cup of tea. How good of you to 
have waited for me ! Ah, Mr. Hastings, how do you 
do} So glad you have found your way to Argyle 
again.” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


III 

** A now,” said Mrs. Treherne, tell me what 
you think of her? ” 

It was an hour later. The sun, which had been 
shining so brightly when Hastings found Irma in the 
garden, had now accomplished his short journey and 
was setting in a sky of pale gold. But the winter day 
was still full of charm, and its crisp atmosphere suffi- 
ciently suggestive of pleasure in outdoor exercise to 
account for Mrs. Treherne’s frankly expressed inten- 
tion of walking across the grounds with him, when he 
rose again to take his leave after a pleasant interval 
of tea and talk beside the library fire. 

“ As I drove home I thought how delightful a short 
turn in the garden would be,” she declared, and 
said to myself that as soon as I had a cup of tea I 
would ask Irma to go out with me. But if she has 
been such a naughty, imprudent girl as to have been 
sitting outdoors, she must remain in now and try to 
avoid the cold which is likely to prove the conse- 
quence. Fate, you see, has sent you to take her 
place,” she added, with a laughing glance at Hastings ; 
‘‘and since I dislike my own company exceedingly, 
I will therefore walk with you across the grounds.” 

“ I am equally flattered and honored,” he replied. 
“ While I do not dislike my own company, — having, 
indeed, rather a partiality for it, — I am only too 
delighted when better company is offered me.” 

“ One knows how much of your compliments to 
take an pied de la lettreP she returned, lifting a large 

157 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


fur-lined wrap, which she had thrown aside on enter- 
ing, and extending it to him. 

After he had placed it over her shoulders, and they 
were together in the delicately tinted frosty world 
outside, he could not but observe her with the admi- 
ration which her appearance at least never failed to 
draw from him. The soft richness of the furs about 
her throat set off, as only furs can, the head which 
rose above them, the fair face, the masses of bright 
hair, crowned with a velvet toque‘which looked sim- 
plicity itself, but was costly and elegant with the 
costliness and elegance of Paris, — the whole inde- 
scribable air of refined, luxurious worldliness; of 
beauty formed in the mould and stamped with the 
seal of highest fashion. Of this type had always been 
the women whom Hastings admired and around 
whom he had fluttered. If he had admired Eleanor 
Treherne more and fluttered around her longer than 
around others, it was only because she was a supreme 
embodiment of the things to which the intensely 
worldly side of his nature responded. 

But that his nature possessed another side was 
proved by the fact that no such woman, neither 
Eleanor Treherne nor another, had ever been able 
to exercise a lasting fascination over him. And 
now what strange influence was it which suddenly 
to his mental vision placed beside the brilliant, 
seductive woman of the world the image of the 
slender, black-clad girl who had shortly before walked 
by his side along these paths, and which made 
him feel that the contrast was as if a pearl snatched 
from the far depths of ocean were placed beside 
one of those brilliant products of the art of man 

158 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


which are only not diamonds because they are not 
real? 

It was while this thought was in his mind that Mrs. 
Treherne, looking up at him with her eyes of curiously 
blended color, abruptly asked the question : 

“ And now tell me what you think of her? ” 

“ Of Miss Darracote? ” he answered. “ She strikes 
me as very attractive. She has a picturesque type of 
beauty, and much natural distinction of appearance 
and manner.” 

“ Could n’t you possibly catalogue her virtues and 
qualities of mind? ” asked Mrs. Treherne. “ No doubt 
you discovered some of those things as well as the 
‘ picturesque beauty ’ and the ‘ natural distinction ’ 
during your tete-a-tete this afternoon.” 

“ Yes,” he responded : “ I discovered several suffi- 
ciently rare virtues and unusual qualities of mind. 
But allow me, with more reason, to return the ques- 
tion and to ask what do you think of her? ” 

“My opinion is of no importance.” 

“ On the contrary, your opinion is of great impor- 
tance ; for you are the only person who knows any- 
thing about her. I have seen a striking-looking girl, 
and heard her express some thoughts and sentiments 
rather out of the ordinary line of young ladies’ con- 
versation; but beyond that what do I know of her? 
Whereas you, who have now been with her for months, 
must know a great deal.” 

“ Which of course it will interest you to hear.” 

“ Which it will certainly and very naturally interest 
me to hear. Mr. Darracote’s heiress cannot be an 
object of indifference to me.” 

“ I never for an instant imagined that she would be 
^59 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


an object of indifference to you/’ said Mrs. Treherne, 
in a tone which she would have liked to render a shade 
less bitter had she been able to do so. “ But since 
her chief — one may say her only claim upon inter- 
est rests in the fact that she is Mr. Darracote’s heiress, 
there does not seem much necessity for adding any- 
thing else.” 

“ Probably not,” replied Hastings, with admirable 
carelessness, “ especially as I shall soon be able to 
form an opinion for myself, since she is good enough 
to allow me to resume my old privileges of friendship 
at Argyle.” 

Mrs. Treherne laughed, but the silvery sound had 
anything save a tone of mirth. 

“ Already ! ” she exclaimed. ‘‘ You are to be 
congratulated on your immediate success. But of 
course there was nothing else to be expected — 
either on her side or on yours.” 

Hastings stopped short and turned toward her. 

“Will you kindly interpret that remark? ” he said, 
in his cool, quiet voice. “ I should like to know why 
there was nothing else to be expected, either on Miss 
Darracote’s side or on mine.” 

Their eyes met, and for a minute there was silence ; 
but in that silence glance spoke to glance in a 
manner which rendered speech unnecessary — or, 
rather, with a frankness not to be expressed in speech 
without a disregard of those conventionalities which 
people trained like these never forget save in 
moments of supreme excitement. In Hastings’ eyes 
were to be read disdain and contemptuous indiffer- 
ence. ‘‘ What a fool you are to imagine that by 
anything you may do or say you can prevent my 
i6o 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


taking the course which it pleases me to take ! 
Why do you not recognize your powerlessness? 
Why are you so foolish as to endeavor to provoke 
and annoy me? You have everything to lose and 
nothing to gain by such methods.” This is what 
Mrs. Treherne read, as plainly as if it had been 
spoken, during that moment in which they silently 
faced each other; and the perception inspired her 
with an almost uncontrollable desire to overwhelm 
him with words which would have ended all pre- 
tence of friendliness between them. 

But the very coolness of that question — “ Why 
do you not recognize your own powerlessness ? ” — 
enabled her to control herself. For the present, 
it was true, she was powerless; and all that she 
could gain by any outburst, any revelation either of 
her own exceeding folly or of anything else, would 
be to deepen the disdain in those eyes, every expres- 
sion of which she knew so well. Perhaps some day 
fate would put a weapon in her hand, and then — 
she drew in her breath sharply. Yes, it was worth 
waiting for. And he was right; she was a fool not 
to be able to bide her time with a better grace. 
Something of this, but certainly not all, Hastings 
read in her eyes, before the lids suddenly fell over 
them, as if to end possible revelations. At the same 
instant she walked on. 

“ Have you grown very dull or very serious that, 
with an air of putting a pistol to my head, you 
demand an explanation of my little jests?” she 
asked. “ I don’t propose to feed your vanity by 
saying why there was nothing else to be expected 
but an immediate league of friendship on Miss Darra- 

II i6i 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


cote’s side. But on yours — well, one knows that 
you are captivated by whatever is new, fresh, attrac- 
tive ; and certainly our heiress is all of those things. 
When you asked me a few minutes ago what I 
thought of her, it was only to tease you that I refused 
to answer. As a matter of fact, I find her charm- 
ing, although peculiar. That, however, was to be 
expected.” 

“ If I may be permitted to inquire without again 
being suspected of having an air of putting a pistol 
to your head, why was it to be expected ? ” 

“ From her manner of life, of course ! She never 
had any education — in a regular manner, that is; 
and she has not only never had any social training, 
but she is as ignorant of society as — a savage I was 
about to say, only there is really nothing of the 
savage about her.” 

“Nothing very perceptible, certainly,” Hastings 
agreed. 

“ But she is inconceivably ignorant of the simplest 
things,” Mrs. Treherne went on. “ And as for her 
ideas with regard to matters in general, I am tempted 
to say that they are those of a fool; and yet she 
is n’t exactly a fool, either.” 

“You seem to find it very difficult to express your 
opinion of Miss Darracote without qualifications,” 
Hastings said. “ From which I conclude that she 
has a complex character — ” 

“ No, no ! simplicity itself,” the other interrupted 
quickly. “ But in these days we trace everything to 
antecedents and environment, don’t we? Well, in 
her antecedents she is the child of an idealist and 
an Italian woman who in character and training was 
162 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


of course as remote from 07 ir world as it is possible 
to imagine anything. Then her environment has 
been altogether Bohemian, artistic, unconventional 
in the extreme. The result is a person who strikes 
one as a new type — original, natural, attractive, but 
absolutely impracticable, and ready at any moment 
to do some wild and foolish thing as a result of the 
teachings of her father, who must have been a cross 
between a saint and a Socialist.” 

“I perceive,” observed Hastings, that I was not 
wrong in thinking that you could throw much light 
upon Miss Darracote’s character if you wished to do 
so. Your study of it from the antecedent and en- 
vironment point of view is full of instruction. And 
so you think her father was a cross between a saint 
and a Socialist ! ” 

“ The worst of whom I have ever heard,” said Mrs. 
Treherne, as if her knowledge of such crosses was 
extensive. “ Absolutely impracticable. One almost 
wishes that he had lived. It would have been deli- 
cious to see Uncle Darracote’s carefully hoarded 
millions in the kind of hands he so heartily de- 
tested. I should have regarded it as a providential 
retribution upon him.” 

“ A retribution for not having left his millions to 
— you and me, let us say? But after all, we had 
neither of us any claim upon him ; and I don’t know 
that the uses we should be likely to make of the 
money would be much more in accordance with his 
desires than the uses his cousin would presumably 
have made of it.” 

“ You certainly have no reason to complain of his 
conduct,” said Mrs. Treherne. “ He not only gave 
163 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


you a handsome share of his fortune, but arranged 
matters so that the rest will fall very easily into your 
hands.” 

“Will it?” said Hastings, meditatively. He did 
not think it worth while to point out that he had not 
complained of Mr. Darracote’s conduct toward him- 
self, nor to disclaim any intention of possessing him- 
self of those millions which had been offered him in 
a manner of which Mrs. Treherne knew nothing. 
He was, in fact, wondering if it were as she said — 
if the young heiress were indeed of such impression- 
able material that he had but to put out his hand 
and take them. 

The woman beside him glanced at him with a 
smile, which was anything but pleasant, on her 
lips. She divined his thoughts with the keen 
instinct of what had once been love now converted 
into resentment and dislike. Of course he would 
seize the golden opportunity thus placed before him. 
She had been sure of it from the first moment she 
saw Irma and recognized the girl’s rare charm. That 
no degree of gilding would have won favor for her 
in Gerard Hastings’ eyes had she been unattractive or 
even ordinary, Mrs. Treherne knew well ; but given 
the union of poetic beauty with great wealth, the 
result could readily be foreseen. 

“Surely,” she said suddenly, “you need not hesi- 
tate to speak frankly to an old friend like myself. 
The situation is perfect : it arranges itself ; ‘it jumps 
at the eyes,’ as the French say. Here is this girl, 
with all her money and a disengaged fancy — I dis- 
covered that for you ; and here are you, wanting a 
fresh sensation, a new emotion, and not averse to 
164 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


a little or, better yet, a great deal of money. Noth- 
ing could be more perfect” 

“ From my point of view, perhaps not,” he replied. 
“ But you must agree that a worn-out worldling such 
as you describe — and as I must confess that lam — 
is hardly likely to suit the fancy of a young heiress 
with the world at her feet and her head full of 
ideals.” 

“ But she is so ridiculously, incredibly ignorant 
that she does not know that the world is at her feet,” 
Mrs. Treherne returned. “ If you are wise, you will 
establish your influence before she discovers it. And 
as for the ideals, she will probably weave them around 
you. That is a woman’s way — until she learns 
better.” 

Something in her tone — a singular note of earnest- 
ness under its mocking lightness — suddenly struck 
Hastings, who up to this time had been parrying 
her thrusts with a sense of contemptuous amuse- 
ment. He knew well that if anything could render 
her own loss of the Darracote fortune more bitter, 
it would be that it should pass into his possession, 
especially in the manner under discussion ; yet there 
could be no doubt that in some degree at least she 
was serious in her suggestion that he should estab- 
lish his influence with the heiress before the latter 
learned how much the world stood ready to offer 
her. It was not the voice alone which assured him 
of this. Turning again, he looked keenly into her 
eyes, and read there a sincerity which puzzled and 
baffled him. 

So you don’t believe that I am honest? ” she 
said, interpreting his glance. “What a dreadful 

165 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


thing it is to have such a bad conscience that one 
distrusts even one’s best friends! Whether you 
believe it or not, I arranged everything in my mind 
as soon as I met Irma in Paris. I satisfied myself 
that you had an open field, and I have kept every one 
else away until you should have your chance, if you 
cared to take it. That was always the doubt — 
whether you would care to take it ; for you are so 
capricious, so difficult, so indifferent to chances for 
which other men would give their eyes, that one 
never knows. But this afternoon ” — she paused, and 
something which not even Gerard Hastings’ exhaus- 
tive knowledge of women enabled him to compre- 
hend flashed into her eyes, shone there for an instant, 
then disappeared, — “I think I perceived this after- 
noon that the little drama which I have pleased my- 
self by anticipating will be played as I have fancied. 
Tell me, is it not so? Be frank; give me your con- 
fidence for the sake of old times. 

As she looked up at him smiling, while she uttered 
these words, the thought flashed through his mind 
that there were not many men at whom she would 
have smiled in vain. For her beauty had never been 
more potent to charm than now in its rich maturity ; 
and as she stood in the midst of the winter land- 
scape, with the pale yellow of sunset behind, and in 
front the white moon floating in a sky of faintest blue, 
the cold colors and low tones of the scene threw into 
effective relief the beautiful, luxurious figure, so sug- 
gestive of the fascinations of the world, of all its 
many appeals to the senses of men. 

‘‘Why should you imagine that I don’t believe 
you, and that I am not very grateful for your interest 

i66 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


in my fortunes? ” he asked. “ But when you talk of 
dramas to be played and ask for my confidence, I can 
only reply that the confidence should be yours if I 
had any to give. But at present I have none. Surely 
you forget how old I am when you credit me with 
sufficient impulsiveness to have decided in a single 
interview to become the suitor of a young lady who, 
by your own statement, is peculiar as well as charm- 
ing. No man can answer for the future; but for the 
present I assure you that I have formed no plan at 
all regarding Miss Darracote and her fortune.” 

Mrs. Treherne dropped hevT eyes. 

“ So you will not be frank,” she said. “You will 
not trust me. Well, all the same, I know, even if 
you do not, what will be the end. Fate is too strong 
for any man. You will take the chance which is 
offered you. Bah ! ” — her tone was full of scorn 
now — “ did I not read it in your eyes and hear it in 
your voice this afternoon? You cannot deceive a 
woman who has — known you as long as I have, 
Gerard Hastings.” 

“ Why should I have the faintest desire to deceive 
you?” he asked. “You have, as you say, known 
me a long time, so you should know whether or not 
I am in the habit of uttering untruths.” 

“ In words — no,” she answered. “ There your 
conventional standard of honor comes in. A gentle- 
man does not lie. But a gentleman may deceive by 
concealment, by evasion 

He interrupted her by laughing. 

“ You are most flattering. But why should I con- 
ceal or evade in this case? ” 

Again the underlying contempt made itself clearly 
167 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

evident to her ear. Why indeed? Why should he 
conceal (or avow) anything to one whom he had 
swept so utterly out of his life as herself? This was 
what the tone, rather than the words, said to her 
consciousness, whether correctly or not. She looked 
up quickly, and there was something in her glance 
which struck him (although he could have laughed 
again at the absurdity of the idea) as at once a 
challenge and a menace. 

“ Well,” she said lightly, “ we will dismiss the 
subject. But perhaps you may have occasion to 
remember what I have told you : that the field is 
clear at present, though no one can say how long it 
will remain so ; and on my part I shall watch the de- 
velopments which I foresee with the greatest interest. 
I have never before played the part of a spectator in 
such a drama, but the novelty of the position will 
give it additional zest. Now good-bye — no, you 
must not think of returning a step with me ! No 
doubt we shall meet soon again, since you have re- 
sumed your old privileges of friendship at Argyle.” 

She smiled, nodded, turned, and moved away down 
the garden walk; while Hastings, looking after her, 
asked himself what she could possibly mean by these 
strange overtures, and why that last glance of her 
eyes had seemed a revelation of something almost 
sinister. 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


IV 

M eanwhile the girl, who had been left 
alone in Mr. Darracote’s great chair by the 
library fire, remained quite still after the others had 
gone out and the shadows of twilight began to gather 
in the spacious room. As these shadows deepened, 
the radiance of the fire asserted itself, and bathed in 
lovely light the young figure sitting so motionless, 
the young face gazing meditatively into the glowing 
depths. 

'' He is not disagreeable,” was what she was think- 
ing. “He is not supercilious and affected, nor — 
apparently — insincere. No doubt he is as worldly 
and perhaps as mercenary as Mrs. Treherne says; 
but there is something attractive about him, — some- 
thing which makes one feel that it is possible to 
speak to him as it has not been possible to speak to 
any one else. Is it not so, Rex.? ” she said aloud to 
the collie, who suddenly lifted himself from the 
hearth-rug and laid his head in her lap. “You like 
him ; and I think your instinct is better worth trust- 
ing than that of many people. It was good to hear 
how he spoke of your dead master, — good to have 
one honest, loyal word uttered about him beneath 
this roof. You could not speak, dear doggie, and I 
had no knowledge; but I always felt that he must 
have been different from the odious character Mrs. 
Treherne described. And since she was so mistaken 
about one, why should she not be mistaken about the 
other .? There are people who can see only the worst 
169 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


side of a character, — its infirmities, its littlenesses, 
the faults we all possess. I think she is one of 
those, so I shall put aside the recollection of what 
she has said of Mr. Hastings and judge him for 
myself. It is certain that he is the first person 
whom I have met in my new life of whom I feel that 
it might be possible to make a friend. And in my 
old life I had so many, so very many friends, Rex,” 
— and the lips trembled a little over the words, — 
^That it seems strange to be without any now, except 
you and dear old Margherita. And this reminds 
me — come! we must go and cheer her up a little.” 

The dog understood the tone, if not the words; 
and, springing to his feet, ran before her to the 
door, then across the hall and up the stairs to 
another door, where he stood wagging his tail in 
an attitude of expectancy until she reached and 
opened it. 

A large chamber, furnished in virginal colors — 
softest blue and white — was revealed. But Rex 
knew this was not their final destination; and 
bounding across the floor, he pushed open an inner 
door which gave access to a smaller room, intended 
for a dressing-room, but converted into another 
chamber, where before a grate of glowing coal sat a 
short, dark woman with a melancholy expression, 
engaged in darning stockings despite the growing 
dusk. 

She started and uttered an exclamation as the dog 
reached her side and pushed his cold nose into her 
hand; then she looked up and saw the figure advanc- 
ing toward her. 

‘‘Sit still, Margherita,” said Irma’s soft tones, in 
170 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Italian, ‘‘and put down that darning instantly. You 
wicked woman ! do you want to make yourself blind, 
so that I shall have nobody at all to look after me.? ” 

“One must do something, signorina,” replied 
Margherita sadly, as she laid aside the darning 
obediently and looked with her wistful eyes — affec- 
tionate and faithful as those of the dog beside her 
— at the girl who sat down in a chair on the oppo- 
site side of the hearth. “It is the best blessing 
of God, one’s work. I have found that out now, 
though perhaps I grumbled somewhat when I had 
what I thought was too much of it. But too much 
is better than too little, — oh, very much better! 
Now I have so little that I am thankful when I can 
find any holes in your stockings to darn.” 

“I will try to provide them for you a little 
faster,” said Irma, with a smile, which was partly 
for the thought that she could order a new supply of 
stockings every day, if it pleased her to do so, with- 
out incurring the charge of extravagance. “My 
poor Margherita! I know you are not happy in this 
new life, and I fear I was selfish and wrong to bring 
you into it.” 

“As if I would have been left behind!” replied 
Margherita, with a flash in her eyes, “even if I had 
not promised the signor that I would never leave 
you.” 

“What!” exclaimed Irma, quickly. “Did my 
father ever talk to you of what he feared .? ” 

“Yes, signorina. Have I never told you.? It 
was the day when we parted at the church door in 
Passy and you insisted that I should go home. I 
was angry, because I saw no need for it — God for- 
171 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

give me! — and when I entered the garden where 
the signor was sitting, and he inquired for you, I 
told him that you were tired of old Margherita and 
that you had insisted on my coming home, saying 
that he might need something; while you went 
your way into the streets of Paris, where no one so 
young and so beautiful as you should have been 
seen alone. Then — O carissima mia, it breaks my 
heart to think of it I — he called me to him so gently, 
and laid his hand on mine and said many things, 
kinder far than I deserved, of my service and my 
faithfulness; and then he said : 'You are not a ser- 
vant but a friend, Margherita, and therefore I want 
to tell you that I am so ill, little as you may think 
it, that I am likely to die at any moment. The 
signorina does not know this, but she suspects it, 
and this is why she has sent you home. You must 
not say one word to her; we will spare her as long 
as we can. But I tell you that you may understand, 
and also that you may promise me never to leave 
her; for after I am gone she will be very lonely, my 
poor child!’” 

" O my father — my dear, dear father ! ” said Irma, 
with a sudden burst of tears. ” How lonely, how 
sad of heart, not even you could tell ! ” 

"And then, signorina,” Margherita went on, 
weeping also, "I knelt down by him and promised 
— and I called God and the Blessed Mother to 
witness the promise — that I would never leave you 
while you had any need of me, and that I would 
follow you wherever you went. I didn’t think then 
that you would be likely to go so far, but it is all 
the same: I will never leave you unless you drive 

I y2 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


me away. But I should be glad if there were only 
something more that I could find to do for you.” 

"‘You may be sure that I will never drive you 
away,” said Irma, putting down Rex, who was in- 
sistently offering sympathy in a grief which his 
heart, itself acquainted with grief, clearly divined. 
“And I must try to find something more for you to 
do. But it is a little puzzling. You see we are so 
oppressively rich now, and there are so many ser- 
vants to do everything — ” 

“ A great many more than there need be ! ” Mar- 
gherita cried sharply. “ Half of them might do the 
work, the lazy — ” 

“Ah, never mind about that!” interposed Irma, 
who had heard it all before. “ It would not do to 
cut down the household, because there is no need of 
economy, and we have a position to maintain. You 
must not forget that, absurd as it seems. ” 

She had struck the right chord ; for at these words 
Margherita lifted her head proudly. 

“And why should it seem absurd.?” she de- 
manded. “ It would not be absurd even if we were 
in Italy and you were the princess that you should 
be; for your mother — God rest her soul! — was a 
cousin (though far removed, it is true) to Prince 
Stronzolli.” 

“Well, you see, I must maintain my rank as 
cousin to a prince, now that I have the means to do 
so, even though we are not in Italy,” said Irma; 
“and yet I should very much like to make you 
happy by providing you with an occupation if I 
could. Can you think of nothing you would like 
to do.?” 


73 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“What I should like,” said Margherita, “would 
be to work for you, and take care of you, and scold 
you sometimes, as I used to do; but I know that 
can never be again,” she ended sadly, shaking her 
head. “You are a great lady now, and I would not 
have you anything else. But if you could send away 
that impudent Suzanne, and let me have charge of 
all your things, I should be better satisfied.” 

Irma could not but smile at this request; for she 
knew well that a deadly feud existed between Mar- 
gherita and the French maid whom it had been Mrs. 
Treherne’s first act to engage for her in Paris; 
and she was also aware that the fault was all on 
Margherita’ s side. 

“But if I sent away Suzanne,” she said, “I should 
have no peace with Mrs. Treherne until I had 
engaged some one to fill her place; and it is possi- 
ble that you might not like the newcomer any better 
than Suzanne, who seems to me a very good girl, on 
the whole.” 

“Mrs. Treherne!” repeated Margherita, scorn- 
fully;' and she burst forth into a voluble stream of 
words. “Why should not Mrs. Treherne herself 
go ? ” she asked. “ Why should she stay to play 
mistress in a house where she is not mistress.? It 
is Mrs. Treherne’s orders here and Mrs. Treherne’s 
orders there, and Mrs. Treherne to be consulted 
about everything — even the signorina’s maid. And 
it was only yesterday I heard her say something to 
Mrs. Dickson about ‘ that old Italian woman.’ She 
thought I understood no English: she is mistaken. 
I shall always say that it is a language fit for pigs, 
but I know much of it.” 


174 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Patience, patience, Margherita!” said Irma, 
sighing a little. “We cannot have things exactly 
as we would like in this world, no matter how rich 
we may be. Mrs. Treherne must be borne with, 
because I am too young to live alone, you know, and 
there is no one else to take charge of me. That 
she acts as mistress of the house where she has been 
mistress a long time, does not trouble me at all, so 
why should it trouble you.? I am glad that she re- 
lieves me of the responsibility; for what do I know 
of ordering the affairs of a household like this ? It is 
not like our little mhiage in Paris, — the dear little 
manage for which you and I used to go marketing in 
our happy days. But now let us talk no more of 
these things. Instead, I will tell you a piece of 
good news. Some one is coming — some one who 
belongs to our old life. Guess who it is.” 

“ Signor Norbert perhaps .? ” said Margherita, 
promptly, — for she had not been blind in those old 
days of which Irma spoke. 

The girl started and flushed suddenly. Was it 
because the thought of Norbert and his young, 
impetuous passion had grown dim with her amid 
all the changes which her life had lately known, 
and that her heart, loyal and constant to every 
claim upon it, reproached her for such forget- 
fulness.? 

“No,” she said, “it is not Mr. Norbert. Why 
should you think of him.? It is the Signorina 
Camilla. Since she made her d^btit in Milan, she 
has been singing in Paris; and she has achieved 
such a triumph that the impresarios are offering her 
engagements everywhere. She is to go to London 

175 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


next May; but she is coming to America first, and 
she will pay me a visit. Is not that delightful — 
to think of having Camilla here.!* ” 

Margherita agreed that it was indeed delightful; 
for next to Irma — although at a long interval — 
Camilla ranked in her affections, and her interest 
was intense in the triumph of which Irma spoke. 
She insisted upon all details; and they were still 
talking in the fire-lit dusk, with Rex sitting sol- 
emnly and happily between them, when a trim figure 
appeared in the door of Irma’s chamber and a voice 
said in French : 

“Is Mademoiselle ready to make her toilette.!* 
There is only half an hour until dinner.” 

It was Suzanne, the detested. Irma found her- 
self giving an apologetic glance toward Margherita 
as she rose, saying : 

“Yes, Suzanne, I am ready. I did not know it 
was so late. ” 

It was while this conversation by the fireside was 
in progress that Mrs. Treherne, having parted from 
Hastings in the grounds, was walking homeward, 
wrapped in her soft furs, and smiling a little as if 
at some thought that pleased her. It was not an 
agreeable smile; but then Mrs. Treherne’s expres- 
sions when alone were not always agreeable. Hard 
lines were apt to come out at such times about her 
lips, and cruel and crafty gleams to shine in her 
eyes. It is the penalty of these expressions that 
in time they write themselves indelibly on the coun- 
tenance, but that time had not yet come with this 
fair-faced woman. Only the closest observer could 
176 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


now perceive the harshness lurking beneath the soft- 
ness, the narrowness and pettiness of soul which 
insincerity veiled. 

It was with the aspect of one dwelling upon some 
pleasurable thought, which derived its keenest edge 
of pleasure from the fact that the matter on which it 
dwelt would not be agreeable to another person, that 
she strolled on through the clear winter twilight 
toward the stately house set in the midst of its wide- 
spreading lawns. And as she approached it, her 
glance suddenly perceived a figure coming along the 
drive which led from the gates, — a small, shrunken, 
insignificant figure, yet with something strangely 
familiar in its aspect. 

She paused for an instant and caught her breath 
sharply. “ That old man ! ” she exclaimed aloud. 
Then she hurried on quickly and reached the stone 
steps at the entrance of the house a little in advance 
of him. 

So it occurred that when Peter Wilkins lifted his 
eyes from the gravelled drive on which they had 
been abstractedly bent, he saw before him the woman 
whom he had met in the hall of Argyle on the night 
when Mr. Darracote lay dying. Standing in the 
sunset light, her rich beauty, her whole air of arro- 
gant superiority to the common things of life, struck 
him now, as it had struck him then, as altogether 
intimidating and overwhelming. It is an effect 
which such fine ladies as Mrs. Treherne like to 
inspire, and which never fails to afford them a 
distinct sensation of gratified vanity. At present 
it also gave Mrs. Treherne something more, — a 
sense of commanding the situation through the 
177 


12 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


awe which her appearance inspired. She smiled 
graciously. 

‘‘I think,” she said, as Wilkins took off his hat, 
that I have seen you before. It is Mr. — ah ! — 
Watkins ? ” 

“My name is Wilkins — Peter Wilkins, madam,” 
the old man answered. “You saw me in this house 
the night Mr. Darracote died.” 

“I remember,” said Mrs. Treherne, who indeed 
remembered perfectly. “You came down from his 
room only a few minutes before he died. It was 
very sad, for there is no doubt that the excitement 
of your visit hastened the end.” 

Wilkins looked as conscience-stricken as she 
could have desired. 

“I was afraid of it,” he said, “but what could I 
do ? I was forced to see him — I could never have 
forgiven myself if I hadn’t seen him! And yet he 
died without doing anything 1 ” 

“He had no time,” Mrs. Treherne reminded him 
reproachfully. “After you went away, I hardly 
reached him before he died. Perhaps if he had 
lived — ” 

“ If he had lived he would have done justice,” the 
old clerk said solemnly. “ He told me that he would, 
and I never knew him break his word. It seems a 
pity that he couldn’t have lived an hour — just an 
hour — longer, but God’s will be done ! And since 
it wasn’t allowed,” he added, lifting his brown, 
pathetic eyes to Mrs. Treherne’s face, “I have come 
to see what I can do with the young lady who has 
inherited everything.” 

Mrs. Treherne’s heart began to beat quickly. 

178 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


don’t think it likely that Miss Darracote will 
see you,” she said. “Already she has so many 
applications for charity that she — ” 

“Charity!” Wilkins interrupted, and there was a 
flash of indignation in the brown eyes now. “ I have 
not come to ask for charity, madam. I am seeking 
justice.” 

“I fear,” said Mrs. Treherne, with a faint, con- 
temptuous smile, “that you will find justice even 
harder than charity to obtain. And, besides, is it 
exactly Miss Darracote’ s place to do justice in the 
manner you desire.^ If you have any claim to make 
against Mr. Darracote’ s estate, why do you not see 
Mr. Kirby.?” 

She looked at him keenly as she made this sug- 
gestion, and Peter Wilkins had no idea how much 
he gratified her by the frankness with which he 
answered : 

“I have seen Mr. Kirby, I went to him after 
Mr. Darracote’s death. But” — he shook his head 
sadly — “it was no use. He hasn’t any power to 
help me. He told me that Mr. Darracote’s executors 
can do nothing outside of the will. If there is any 
claim to be made against the estate, I must take it 
into the courts. But I can’t do that, you know, — 
not if it can possibly be avoided.” 

“I suppose not,” said Mrs. Treherne. “It would 
be very expensive.” 

“ It is n’t only that it would be expensive,” the old 
clerk returned simply. “ Even if I had the means I 
could n’t bear to drag the name of one whom I hon- 
ored as much as I honored Mr. Darracote into the 
publicity of courts and newspapers. It is something 
179 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

he would never have forgiven. And I feel bound to 
respect his wishes as much now that he is dead as 
when he was living. So I have come to lay the 
case before the young heiress. She is young and 
should have a heart easily touched.” 

The contempt of Mrs. Treherne’s smile visibly 
deepened. 

don’t think that even young hearts are easily 
touched to the point of giving away or sharing for- 
tunes,” she said. “ I advise you to be satisfied with 
what Mr. Kirby told you and to make no attempt to 
see Miss Darracote. You cannot possibly gain any- 
thing by seeing her.” 

Excuse me,” said Wilkins, with a new firmness 
in his voice, “I have come to see Miss Darracote, 
and I shall not go away until I have given her the 
opportunity of saying whether or not she will see 
me.” 

He mounted the steps as he spoke, with the evi- 
dent intention of ringing the door-bell ; and his deter- 
mination was so unexpected, especially when taken 
in connection with his appearance, that Mrs. Tre- 
herne felt command of the situation rapidly escaping 
her. She possessed, however, a quickness of re- 
source which had saved the command for her in many 
another situation as it saved it now. 

*‘In that case,” she said, interposing and opening 
the hall door before his hand could touch the bell, 
shall have pleasure in taking you in myself, 
and in letting Miss Darracote know who it is that 
wishes to see her.” 

She led him across the spacious, fire-lit, rug- 
strewn hall into her own special apartment, — a 
i8o 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


room which reflected her character and tastes as the 
rooms we inhabit mostly do. Here were all the 
luxuries of modern furnishing: couches, cushions, 
easy-chairs of every variety, bric-a-brac in quanti- 
ties ; softly shaded lamps, by the light of which it 
was impossible to do anything save talk; and a 
subtle pervading perfume, which added to the gen- 
eral effect of almost enervating luxury. Into this 
(to him) bewildering place Peter Wilkins was con- 
ducted, and here his guide turned to him with her 
most gracious smile. 

'‘Sit down, Mr. Wilkins,” she said, "while I go 
and inquire if Miss Darracote will see you. She 
is — how shall I say.? — rather peculiar, and she has 
so far declined to see any of the old friends of her 
cousin. But she may make an exception in your 
favor. I will try to induce her to do so, I assure 
you.” 

" Thank you, madam, very much ! ” said the old 
clerk, gratefully. Of the sincerity of this kindness 
he had not an instant’s doubt, and it only occurred 
to him to wonder a little why Mrs. Treherne should 
take so much trouble in his behalf. Evidently, he 
reflected as he sat alone, staring at a wonderful, 
opalescent, globe-like lamp, it was not well to judge 
even fine ladies too hastily by their appearance. 
Who could have imagined, for instance, that this 
particular fine lady would display so much interest 
in an insignificant old man like himself, and in 
obtaining for him the interview he desired with this 
peculiar heiress.? 

Meanwhile the disinterested person in question 
was walking across the hall toward the library, with 

i8i 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


her brows contracted in deep thought. What a 
fool she had been to overlook Peter Wilkins! This 
was her reflection. She had fancied that a very 
pretty little game, which she had carefully arranged, 
was in her own hand, when, lo ! fate sent this man 
across her path as if to warn her that, except in a 
limited degree, it was not in her hand, after all. For 
she had not lived with Irma for months without 
learning enough of the girl’s character to know 
that, should she meet the old clerk, all of her (Mrs. 
Treherne’s) well-laid plans would be brought to 
naught by the simplest means. Yet how was it 
possible to prevent their meeting.!^ What could 
she say that would induce Irma to refuse to see one 
who, she was certain to feel, had a strong claim 
upon her consideration } 

It was a perplexing question, which she had not 
answered when, trusting to inspiration, she opened 
the library door and entered, expecting to find Irma 
where she had left her a short time before. The 
vacant room first surprised, and then seemed to give 
an answer to her questionings. She stopped short 
in the middle of the floor, and stood, with half- 
parted lips, gazing at the chair where she had seen 
the girl last. Was this the solution.? Should she 
simply send the troublesome visitor away with a 
facile falsehood ? She had meant — honestly meant, 
so she assured herself — to report his presence, 
although she would have advised against seeing him. 

A troublesome old man, who annoyed Uncle Dar- 
racote very much, and whom you cannot too soon 
discourage, my dear,” was what she would have 
said. But now — the silence of the room, filled 
182 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


only with soft firelight and the perfume of flowers, 
and the vacancy of that empty chair, gave another 
suggestion. Why say anything to her? Why not 
simply dismiss the man and suppress the incident? 

Of course he cannot be counted upon to keep quiet 
for any length of time,” she said to herself; ‘‘of 
course he remains, to a certain extent, a danger to 
be reckoned with. But I do not think that a very 
great length of time will be necessary to see all 
that I look for accomplished; and when that is the 
case — well, then, Mr. Wilkins, you may come with 
your story and your plea for justice as soon as you 
please. Meanwhile the game is in my hand, and 
I have never yet thrown up my cards. If there is 
only one chance, however slender, however des- 
perate, for success, on principle I take that chance. 
And so I shall take this now.” 

She nodded toward the empty chair, set her lips 
firmly, and, turning, swept with a rustle of silken 
skirts from the room. 

A little later, dejected and discouraged, Peter 
Wilkins was walking away from the door of Argyle; 
cheered only by the thought of Mrs. Treherne’s 
sympathy, her evident reluctance to tell him that 
Miss Darracote positively declined to see him. 

“So sorry, Mr. Wilkins!” the lady had mur- 
mured gently; “but it was quite impossible to move 
her. She may have heard something, — I don’t 
know, of course. At least, she is determined not to 
see you. You know I warned you : I had an instinct 
she would refuse. Believe me, people don’t wish to 
have unpleasant responsibilities thrust on them.” 

“That is quite true,” the old man owned sadly. 
183 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

I had hoped — well, I will not annoy her again. 
I will go and try to decide what is best to do now. 
I am sorry to have troubled you, madam, and I beg 
you will accept my best thanks for your efforts in 
my behalf.” 

“You owe me no thanks at all,” replied Mrs. 
Treherne, sweetly. “ I wish I could have done more 
for you. But, you see, there was really nothing to 
be done.” 


V 

TT is altogether the loveliest thing I have ever 

1 seen ! ” 

It was Mrs. Lawton’s voice which spoke ; and the 
words were echoed by a general chorus of acqui- 
escence from the group of people gathered in the 
drawing-room of Argyle. 

The object at which they were gazing was the 
statue which had been Gilbert Darracote’s last 
work. Executed in marble, the charming creation 
seemed to have gained, if not in beauty, at least in 
the suggestion of ethereal spirituality. Standing in 
relief against a rich bronze-green velvet curtain, the 
nymph, with her slender form, her springing feet 
and fluttering draperies, was like a white dream of 
virginal grace, of radiant joyousness, of airy motion 
enchanted into the stillness of art. 

“ One might fancy it a Pysche direct from Hellas,” 
said Rapier when the chorus of admiration somewhat 
subsided, — he never spoke unless sure of attention 
for his utterances, — “ if one did not perceive so clearly 
that the sculptor has had a modern inspiration.” 

184 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


• Lucia Wynne uttered an exclamation. 

“ Of course ! ” she cried. “ It is Miss Darracote 
herself. Oh, how enchanting to be so immortal- 
ized ! I should be wild with delight if I were in her 
place.” 

“ Miss Darracote ! ” — “ Why of course it is Miss 
Darracote ! ” — “ What an admirable likeness ! ” — 
“ How lovely ! how interesting ! ” murmured the 
chorus, until one voice made itself heard above the 
rest. 

“Wasn’t there something said about an artist 
lover? Perhaps this is his work, — does anybody 
know? Did Mrs. Treherne say? And how delight- 
fully romantic if so ! ” 

Mrs. Lawton turned toward the speaker. 

“ The sculptor was Miss Darracote’s father,” she 
said; “and he died just after finishing this. So we 
may suppose it has sad as well as proud associations 
for her. But there is no question of her having been 
his model. Any one can recognize the likeness, for 
she has hardly been idealized at all.” 

“ It would be difficult to idealize her,” suggested 
some one. “ She is so remarkably picturesque — just 
the type artists admire, you know.” 

“ That,” said Rapier, “ is the most surprising fact 
of all. How on earth does it come to pass that a 
good, honest, money-making grub, like our esteemed 
friend, the late Mr. Darracote, should be allied to, 
and succeeded by, anything so startling as a Psyche? 
We are not very much accustomed to encountering 
Psyches in ordinary life ; and in all our speculations 
regarding the heiress, I think we hardly expected 
anything half so remarkable as we have found.” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ I am sure we did not,” responded Lucia Wynne, 
promptly. “ For myself, I honestly admit that I am, 
astonished. Indeed it would be a very dull person 
who did not perceive that ‘ the new heiress,’ as we 
have been calling her, is something very extraordi- 
nary, quite apart from her heiress-ship.” 

“ And whatever else we may be, we are not dull,” 
complacently remarked yet another member of the 
group. 

This was quite true. Taken as a whole, they 
esteemed themselves open to any other charge than 
that of dulness, these people who were assembled at 
Argyle on this the first day that it had been known 
that Mrs. Treherne was once more at home to her 
friends. They represented, in fact, a section of 
society which prided itself equally on its fashionable 
exclusiveness and its intellectual cultivation; and if 
they had responded with flattering eagerness to her 
intimation that she would resume her Thursdays, it 
was not, as may readily be supposed, because of any 
very high regard for Mrs. Treherne, but sprang, as 
that lady herself was thoroughly aware, from a keen 
interest in and curiosity concerning the heiress whom 
it was her good fortune to hold as a social trump 
card of the highest order. 

“Yes, Miss Darracote will appear,” she had said, 
in answer to solicitous inquiries. “ She has promised 
that she will, in a quiet, informal way, meet a few of 
my friends. But it is not to be regarded as an in- 
troduction to society. Being in deep mourning, she 
will not go out at all this season. She is quite firm 
about that.” 

“ So long as we are allowed to see her, we will 

i86 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


accept any terms,” a gay young woman had laughed 
in reply to this. 

And such was the opinion of all who wended their 
way out to Argyle on Mrs. Treherne’s day of recep- 
tion. So long as they might satisfy their curiosity 
by seeing the unknown heiress, with her picturesque 
antecedents and her wonderful fortune, it did not 
matter at all with what restrictions the privilege was 
hedged. 

But it is safe to say that no one was prepared for 
the striking young creature whom they found. What 
they had expected nobody perhaps could have said ; 
but all would have agreed, with Rapier, that it was 
not “ anything half so remarkable ” as this graceful 
girl, with her head which seemed to have been taken 
from an old Italian canvas, her beautiful eyes and 
radiant smile. It was probably because she had been 
brought up in Bohemia that Irma had but one manner, 
whether she were with artists and men of letters such 
as had gathered in her father’s studio, with Margherita 
and Rex by the fireside of the former, or with 
fashionable society, as Mrs. Treherne presented it to 
her in her own drawing-room. But it was simply 
and solely because she was herself that this manner 
was so spontaneous and natural, so free from all effort 
and so devoid of self-consciousness ; that learned and 
unlearned, gentle and simple, man, woman, and dog, 
alike found it fascinating. 

And then, as if it were not enough to have intro- 
duced such an heiress to a society wholly unex- 
pectant of anything of the kind, Mrs. Treherne had a 
further surprise in store for her friends. She brought 
it forward at the moment when, the impression pro- 
187 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


duced by Irma having been fully made, there was a 
slight general pause, — a pause which did not mean 
lack of interest, but only, as it were, doubt as to what 
was to come next, and which was therefore the 
most effective moment possible for a surprise. 

I am very fortunate to-day,” she said to the circle 
gathered about her tea-table ; “ for I have not only 
had the pleasure of presenting Miss Darracote to the 
world, and my friends to Miss Darracote, but I 
also her permission to show you something very 
beautiful which has just arrived from Europe.” 

“ Don’t overpower us altogether, my dear Mrs. 
Treherne,” suggested Rapier, who was seated at her 
elbow. And then, lowering his voice, he added : 
“You have already showed us something very beau- 
tiful which has just arrived from Europe, you know.” 

“ But now I will show you something else — or, 
rather, I will show you the same thing in a different 
form,” she laughed, glancing around at him. “ Read 
that riddle if you can ; or, better yet, come and 
see.” 

She rose as she spoke, and, with a general glance 
of invitation, swept across the floor toward an alcove- 
like recess at the farther end of the spacious room. 
Almost all the company followed her, and paused 
only when, an unexpected vision and dream of beauty, 
the Psyche stood revealed to them. 

Irma, who had not moved from her seat, heard 
the subdued murmur of their admiration with a sud- 
den, poignant sense of sadness. It pleased her that 
her father’s genius should be recognized here where he 
was unknown ; but the pleasure was accompanied by 
pain, — that pain of “remembering happier things,” 

i88 



“ It pleased her that her father’s o-eniiis should he 
recoo’ni/ed . . . 












'■-l' • ' • 

U Vx' 


. « 


<. 

• 1 , 


* ' • . »,*' / ‘ 

, % ’ K 

r ' • - 


4 


I 

\ - 


• 4 


’-k% 






il. 




« 


'♦. ' 


• ‘i’ . 

. V ■ • , ' ^ . T * . 

,. -- 


h.' 


« 

» 


/„«-■ 

1 


': , 

f 


* A 


i .’ 


.■1 




• A 


• , 


* I 


: • . 


4i r 


( 


(' \ 









■ I 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


which is truly “ a sorrow’s crown of sorrow,” and 
which those who facilely forget are spared. She 
thought of the happy days when she had light- 
heartedly posed for him and watched the statue grow 
under his hand. The studio opened before her: she 
could see his smile, meet his eyes ; hear his deep, 
musical voice talking, jesting, quoting Dante. It 
was as if she might put out her hand and touch the 
dear, familiar scene. And yet she knew that those 
things which happened in the birth of time were no 
further removed from her than that life of the past. 
Only the Psyche remained to connect her with it ; and 
the Psyche, like herself, was now in a new, strange 
world, and under the cold, critical gaze of stranger 
eyes. 

She was not aware what a shade of sorrow her 
thoughts cast over her face until some one suddenly 
sat down beside her and a kind voice said : 

“ I am afraid there is something sad for you, my 
dear, in this little surprise of Mrs. Treherne’s.” 

Looking around, she saw a lady, small, middle- 
aged, simply though elegantly dressed ; with silvery 
hair smoothly folded under a black bonnet, and a 
clever, somewhat caustic face, whom she knew to be 
called Mrs. Royal Smith, and of whom it had been 
whispered to her that she was an undisputed social 
leader and sovereign. 

“ Yes,” Irma answered ; “ there is much that is sad 
for me in it, because the statue at which they are 
looking was my father’s last work, and one in which 
I was very closely associated with him. I am glad 
for it to be seen, since nobody here knows anything 
of his great genius; but there is nothing which has 
189 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


such power to recall to me the happy days of my life 
with him, which are gone forever.” 

The sincerity of her tone was not lost on the woman 
whose experience had not made her cynical, although 
she was generally credited with being so, thanks to a 
keenness for perceiving shams, an incisive wit, and a 
sharp tongue. All the more because she knew her 
world to the core was she touched by the regret in 
the voice of this girl whom that world held so rarely 
enviable, when she spoke of “ the happy days ” of 
Bohemianism, obscurity, and comparative poverty, 
which were gone forever with the father she adored. 

“ I am sure,” she said gently, “ that they must 
have been very happy days to you ; for there is 
nothing more delightful than such association be- 
tween father and daughter. And when a genius is 
companionable — many geniuses are not, you know — 
the companionship is simply fascinating. I knew your 
father well enough to know that it was so with him.” 

“ You knew my father ! ” cried Irma. “ Oh, what 
an unexpected pleasure ! I did not think that I 
should find any one here who had ever known him.” 

“You must not fancy us absolute barbarians,” Mrs. 
Royal Smith replied, smiling. “There are a few 
people here and there who do not need for genius to 
be advertised in order to recognize it. The friends 
and admirers of Gilbert Darracote belonged to that 
class. Long ago, when we were both young, I was 
his friend, and I have always remained his admirer.” 

Irma leaned forward and took the lady’s hand in 
both her own. 

“ How good of you to come and tell me this ! ” she 
said, — “ how very good ! ” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


‘‘ You are a dear child to be grateful for so little,” 
said Mrs. Royal Smith. “ Like the rest of our 
friends — and she glanced somewhat satirically to- 
ward the other end of the room, — “I came here 
to-day specially to see you and was very curious con- 
cerning you. But my curiosity was not for the heir- 
ess of the Darracote fortune, but for the daughter of 
Gilbert Darracote. I wondered if you would be like 
him — ” 

“ I am not.” 

“ In appearance, no. But in character I fancy that 
you may be. And, fancying this, I shall watch your 
career with peculiar interest. I cannot but wonder 
what Gilbert Darracote’s daughter will do with Rich- 
ard Darracote’s fortune. Forgive me for speaking so 
frankly. But the situation appeals to me very much 
— especially since I have seen you.” 

Irma looked at her with a very wistful expression 
in her dark eyes. 

“ You don’t know how often I think of the power 
which has so unexpectedly come into my hands, and 
ask myself what I am to do with it,” she said. 
“ What I desire to do is something noble, — some- 
thing such as my father would have done.” 

“ Your father,” said the elder woman, was the 
most absolutely unworldly person I have ever known. 
What he would have done it is impossible to say and 
difficult even to imagine. What you may do, my 
dear, must be in great degree determined by circum- 
stances, as a woman’s acts mostly are.” 

“ Why should a woman’s acts be determined by 
circumstances more than those of a man ? ” 
Generally speaking, because she is less free.” 

191 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ But / am free,” the girl returned, — “ sorrowfully 
and entirely free. Not only is there nobody who has 
any right to suggest what I shall or shall not do, but 
there is no one who has any claim upon me.” 

“At present, perhaps not,” said Mrs. Royal Smith 
— and then she paused. To a girl of the ordinary 
type she would have added the obvious conclusion of 
her sentence ; but her perceptions were too keen for 
her not to recognize that Irma was of a very different 
type from the ordinary. Suitors, fortune-seekers, 
marriage with all its chances and its complications, — 
she hesitated to speak of them to this girl with the 
vestal eyes and lips. Yet who knew better than her- 
self that these were the forces which, in all human 
probability, would mould her future and dictate its 
acts ? 

It was in this momentary pause that her glance 
fell on a figure which appeared in the open door of 
the drawing-room and crossed the floor toward Irma 
and herself. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, putting up her eyeglasses. 
“ Here is some one who has always been a familiar 
presence at Argyle. Have you met Mr. Hastings?” 

“ Yes,” Irma answered. “ It has not been many 
days since I saw him first ; but in the midst of so 
many new acquaintances, he already seems like an 
old one.” 

“ No doubt,” responded Mrs. Royal Smith. And 
then she shook her head at Hastings as he drew near. 
“ I understand why you are so late,” she said. “ You 
have been stealing a march on all of us and making 
Miss Darracote’s acquaintance siih rosa!' 

“ I may be permitted to plead that the temptation 
192 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


was great,” he replied. “But I am sure Miss Darra- 
cote will bear v/itness that I was not guilty of any act 
of extreme violence in storming her acquaintance. 
I was simply introduced with partial kindness by one 
whose opinion had weight with her — ” 

“ Mrs. Treherne, I suppose? ” said the lady, lifting 
her eyebrows slightly. 

“ By no means. The friend who introduced me I 
have not the pleasure of seeing here at present. It 
was Rex — Mr. Darracote’s favorite collie.” 

“ You might have had a worse sponsor. I confess 
that a dog’s liking would have weight with me.” 

“ It has weight with all sensible people,” Hastings 
said. “ There are few better judges of character than 
dogs. If I had doubted whether Argyle had found a 
worthy mistress, I should have been fully convinced 
when I saw how Rex had transferred his allegiance to 
Miss Darracote.” 

“ So Rex was good enough to vouch for Miss 
Darracote to you, as well as to introduce you to Miss 
Darracote ! A very useful dog, I must say,” remarked 
Mrs. Royal Smith, a little dryly. “ But I fancy we 
are all inclined to endorse his opinion as to the 
worthy mistress for Argyle,” she added, looking at 
Irma with a smile. “ I only hope, my dear, that you 
like your new inheritance as well as the inheritance 
suits you.” 

Irma threw out her hands with one of her graceful 
gestures. 

“ It is like a dream, — like something which will be 
gone to-morrow,” she said. “ I have no sense of its 
belonging to me or of my belonging to it.” 

“ I understand,” said Mrs. Royal Smith. “ Every- 

H 193 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


thing here is so strange that of course you cannot 
yet feel at home. But give yourself time to make 
a few friends, and give your friends opportunity to 
prove how much they appreciate you, and perhaps 
you will learn that there are worse things than being 
— heiress-regnant, let us say. But those people yon- 
der are absolutely beginning to return. It says much 
for the work of art at which they have been gazing 
that it has detained some of them so long. Now I 
will have the pleasure of seeing it; for I cannot 
endure to look at anything together with a crowd. 
Yon can come with me, Mr. Hastings; and we will 
go before we are overwhelmed with the torrent of 
their admiration.” 

“ May I ask what it is that we are to see? ” Hast- 
ings inquired, as he rose obediently and crossed the 
floor by her side. 

We are going to see a statue which is the work of 
my old friend, Gilbert Darracote.” 

“What! Did you know Miss Darracote’s father?” 

“ Why not? He was not a man who cared for social 
recognition, but he was not in the least a recluse, and 
I never knew him fail in cordial welcome of a friend. 
The most charming of men, and a rare genius, but 
with not an ounce in him of the thing which makes 
for popularity. Ah, well 1 ” with a sigh, “ he has 
gone where such popularity does not matter; and, 
fortunately or unfortunately, it never mattered to him.” 

“ Unfortunately, I should say, if his powers were 
indeed so great,” remarked Hastings. “ I presume, 
then, that what we are to see is a statue of which 
Miss Darracote spoke to me the other day — his last 
work, I think she said.” 


194 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ Yes ; and here it is ! ” 

They paused, for a moment — charmed and mute. 
Hastings, on his part, was also amazed. He had 
taken with liberal allowance all that had been said of 
Gilbert Darracote’s genius, having the profound con- 
viction that what was unrecognized was likely to be 
greatly exaggerated. But here was a proof not to be 
gainsaid by any one with even the faintest knowledge 
of art. 

“ But it is wonderful ! ” he said at last in a tone of 
astonishment ; and then his companion astonished 
him still further by something like a burst of emotion. 

“ It is divinely lovely ! ” she cried, and in her voice 
was the sound which the French call larnies de la 
voix. And it is just what I always knew that he 
could do if he would — express the spiritual better 
than any one else. For that is what it is , don t you 
see? It is not merely a beautiful girl posturing as a 
nymph. It is Psyche— it is an embodiment of the 

soul." ^ , . 

“ It is also a beautiful girl," said Hastings, for it 
is an admirable likeness of Miss Darracote. 

So it is," agreed Mrs. Royal Smith. ‘‘ And that 
is what she meant— poor child ’.--when she spoke 
of having been closely associated with him in its pro- 
duction. There seems something very pathetic in 
his having modelled her as Psyche, just before the 
great change in her future, just before fate brought 

her to such a life as this." 

“From your tone," said Hastings, “one might 
imply that you do not think there is much scope for 
the soul in this life." 

“And is there?" she asked, turning toward him. 

195 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ You and I, who have lived in it all our lives, and 
could not exist anywhere else, do we not know 
how little place for the soul there is in it? And when 
one thinks of that beautiful, poetic creature ” — she 
pointed to the white, radiant figure — “ caught in it 
and dragged down to its standards and ideals, what 
can one feel except that the old Greek myth will find 
a new and perhaps a pitiful rendering?” 

“ But why anticipate anything so tragic ? Why 
should not our Psyche float above those things, in- 
stead of being caught and dragged down by them ? ” 
“Because she is young,” was the reply; “because 
she is alone ; and, last and strongest reason of all, be- 
cause she is a woman. You know what power it is 
which crushes Psyche and harnesses her to his car.” 

“ I suppose I remember my classics well enough to 
guess that you mean Love. But again, why should 
he crush and harness her? Why should not Psyche 
— and such a Psyche ! — lift him into higher regions? ” 
“That is so likely, is it not?” said the woman 
of the world, with a sarcastic smile. “ No, I see 
so plainly what will be the inevitable result that, 
thinking of my old friend and all his ideals, and 
thinking also of the nature he formed — which must 
choose between changing all its standards or being- 
crushed by forces too great for it, — I wish with all my 
heart Richard Darracote had found another heir. It 
would have been far better if he had left his fortune 
to you!' 

“ In which case you think that I would not need to 
scheme for it,” Hastings replied, with a smile as sar- 
castic as her own. “I understand your fears, my 
dear Mrs. Smith; and although I do not flatter my- 
196 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


self that any assurance of mine can allay them, I feel 
bound, nevertheless, to tell you that it will never be 
by any act of mine that the Psyche whose charm we 
both recognize is dragged down, crushed, or harnessed, 
as you forbode.” 

Their eyes met, and for a moment each looked 
steadily at the other. Then Mrs. Royal Smith 
shrugged her shoulders. 

“ What will be will be,” she said. “ Neither you 
nor I can alter that. I believe you are sincere ; but 
you can no more change issues which are to be than 
you can change what you are or what she is. If you 
were wise — but there ! who is wise? ” 

“Nobody,” he answered; “but there are degrees 
in unwisdom. What degree do you advise me to 
avoid ? ” 

“ If it were worth while to advise — which it is not — 
I would advise you to avoid association with a nature 
so different from your own that sympathy is impos- 
sible between you, and to which you can only bring 
disappointment and pain.” 

“ Your opinion of me, then, is so hopelessly low?” 

“ No. As a man of the world I like you, and I think 
you much better than most of your class. But the 
difference between a man of the world and that'' — 
she pointed again to the Psyche — “ is so great and 
so irreconcilable that nothing can result from any 
attempt to blend things so unlike save what I have 
said.” 

Again their eyes met, and now there was something 
in his glance like a faint shade of defiance. 

“ I think,” he said, “ that we have no alternative 
but to leave Psyche herself to decide the point. 

197 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Mrs. Royal Smith’s lip curled. 

As if, from the beginning of time, Psyche has ever 
decided the point except in one way ! ” she answered, 
“But why discuss the matter? After all, it is no 
more in your hands than in mine. It is Kismet!' 
Then she turned and walked away from him. 


VI 

W HEN there had first broken upon Margherita 
the dreadful alternative that she must 
either separate from the child of her love, or else 
accompany her to an unknown, distant, and pre- 
sumably barbarous country, great had been her 
distress. And on no point was it more acute than 
on that of fear that there were no “ Christians ” (for 
an Italian recognizes no other Christian than the 
Catholic) in this country, whence proceeded, as she 
knew well, so many of those who wandered, disdain- 
ful and uncomprehending, about the sanctuaries of 
her native land. To the credit of her affection and 
faithfulness, however, she did not for an instant 
entertain the idea of suffering Irma to go without 
her; although she was little if at all convinced by 
the assurances she received that churches — true 
churches of the inviolable faith of Rome — existed, 
nay, even abounded, in these remote regions. It 
may be imagined, therefore, that her relief and joy 
were great when, looking from the window of her 
chamber on the first morning after her arrival at 
Argyle, Margherita discerned, in the midst of the 
198 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


beautiful, undulating country which spread beyond 
the grounds, an upsoaring spire, and on that spire 
the gleam of a golden cross. 

Not an instant’s doubt occurred to her regarding 
the faith which this cross indicated. So, asking 
no question of any one, she sallied forth; and, after 
a much longer walk than she had expected, found 
herself at the door of a church, where on entering 
all doubts, if she had felt any, would have been set 
at rest by the sound of the familiar Latin words of 
the Mass ; for the priest was at the altar. 

An hour later, with a face like sunshine, she 
trudged back to Argyle, where Irma, alarmed and 
anxious, was making inquiries for her, and fearing 
that an access of homesickness had possibly over- 
whelmed her and caused her to wander away — 
Heaven alone knew where. It was an immense 
relief when she appeared, radiant with childlike 
delight. 

I have found it, carissima ! ” she cried. I 
have found it — a beautiful little chapel of Our Lady 
of the Angels! You were right when you said that 
there were churches — real churches — in this 
country. And the priest can speak Italian, for I 
talked to him after the Mass; and when he heard 
who I was, he asked, with much surprise, if you 
were a Catholic; and when I asked him what else 
he thought you could be, he only smiled and said he 
was glad to hear it, and that he would very soon 
come to see you. I told him that you would with- 
out doubt be glad to see him; although it is likely 
that you will have your own chaplain, like your 
cousin. Prince — ” 


199 


V/EIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Margherita ! ” exclaimed Irma, half-laughing, 
half-vexed. I must insist that you do not talk to 
people of my cousin the prince. It is absurd and I 
do not like it. But I am glad you have found a 
church, and so near to us. When you have rested, 
you must show me the way to it.” 

And so, later in the day, the two set forth together 
on foot, as so often in the days that were past ; and, 
after crossing the grounds of Arygle, in a direction 
opposite to that of the entrance from the avenue, 
passed out through a small gate and found them- 
selves in a tree-shaded country lane, which even at 
this season was full of the suggestion of bowery 
quiet and charm. In the crisp, still atmosphere and 
pale golden sunshine they passed under the leafless 
boughs; talking, in soft Italian sounds, of lands and 
scenes so dear, so familiar, and, alas ! so far away 
that tears filled their eyes as they spoke. And yet 
to speak was pleasure, — the sad pleasure which only 
exiles know. So talking, so recalling to each other 
unforgotten scenes and memories, they followed the 
lane for a mile or more, and then Margherita sud- 
denly pointed out the church of which they were in 
search. 

With the ending of the lane the view had widened 
before them, — a view of an open, gently rolling 
country, highly cultivated, broken with clumps and 
stretches of woodland, dotted with residences, and 
here and there with villages; while in the distance 
the hazy outline of the city’s spires and towers 
bounded the horizon. But near at hand, crowning 
a peculiarly gentle slope, was the church, to which 
Margheiita pointed with the pride of a discoverer. 

200 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

It was a simple but picturesque structure; and close 
beside it stood a delightful little cottage, with vine- 
embowered doors and latticed windows, — plainly 
the residence of the priest. 

I like it — it is so simple and so graceful ! ” 
Irma said, as they went up to the door, which was 
shaded by a deep rustic porch. 

But to their surprise they found the door fastened. 
Disappointed, they looked at each other, tried it 
again, and then hesitated, uncertain what to do next. 

The priest who talked to me this morning will 
let us in,” said Margherita, confidently. '‘No 
doubt he lives there.” She pointed as she spoke 
toward the adjoining house, and then uttered an 
exclamation. “There is himself — he is coming!” 
she cried. 

And indeed an unmistakably sacerdotal figure had 
just emerged from the cottage, — a short, stout, 
cassock-clad man, with a benign face, and silvery 
hair showing beneath the beretta which surmounted 
it. Keen, kindly eyes looked at the two figures in 
the church porch, and smiled a little as they turned 
on Margherita, who, without waiting for any other 
sign of recognition, broke at once into voluble 
Italian : relating how she had returned, bringing 
the signorina with her, in order that they might pay 
their first visit in their new home to the divine 
Presence that dwelt on Catholic altars; when, be- 
hold, an inconceivable thing! — the church door 
closed and barred, entrance impossible — 

“Oh, no! not impossible,” the priest said, stem- 
ming the torrent at this point. “ But, you see, this 
is not Italy. There are many people here who are 
201 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


not Catholics; especially our roads are full of a class 
of vagabonds called tramps. So, to prevent these 
people from making a loitering place of the church, 
and possibly desecrating it, we close the door after 
Mass. There is, however, a way of entrance through 
the sacristy, which is always open, and well known 
to the members of the congregation. This I will 
have pleasure in showing to you. But first ” — he 
hesitated an instant and glanced at Irma — ‘‘may I 
be permitted to ask if this young lady is Miss 
Darracote > ” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Cure,” said Irma, who had not 
the faintest idea what was the English equivalent 
for this form of address. “And it gives me much 
pleasure to find a church and a priest so near my 
new home.” 

“ It is a pleasure very heartily reciprocated by the 
priest,” he said, holding out his hand cordially. 
“We heard of your arrival, but it was a great aston- 
ishment to me to learn from this good woman that 
you are a Catholic.” 

“ It seems even more astonishing to me to find 
myself in a country where it should be remarkable 
that one is a Catholic,” returned Irma, smiling. 

“ Oh, it does not go so far as that ! ” he answered. 
“This chtflrch is pretty good evidence that there are 
a few of us here. But there has never been one 
before that I know of bearing the name of Darracote 
or living within the gates of Argyle.” He paused 
a moment, and then added, as if unable to restrain 
the further expression of his surprise: “You are 
very young, my child, to have inherited such a 
responsibility as this great estate.” 


202 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


^‘It was all a mistake,” Irma replied with per- 
fect simplicity. “ My cousin never meant to leave 
his fortune to me. He left it to my father. But 
God called him away in the very hour that he heard 
of it; so here am I, with all the responsibility — 
alone, young, unfitted for it ■ — ” 

'' So, no doubt, it seems to you, and might seem 
to any one,” said the priest, kindly. ‘‘But we may 
be sure that God knew what He was about when 
He placed the burden on your shoulders and the 
power in your hands. With His help, you are not 
too young to bear the first or to use the last well. 
But now I will show you the way into the church, 
after which I shall be very much pleased if you will 
honor me by taking a cup of tea with me. It is a 
long walk from Argyle.” 

“I did not find it long,” Irma replied; “but I 
shall be very glad to take a cup of tea with you, on 
the condition that you will soon give me the oppor- 
tunity of returning your hospitality.” 

He smiled. 

“You have not been an heiress very long,” he 
said, “or you would not think it necessary to make 
conditions with regard to your hospitality. Believe 
me, I shall not be slow in presenting myself at the 
door of Argyle. ” 

And so it came about that, after her visit to the 
sanctuary, Irma took a cup of tea in a room which 
delighted her eye as soon as she entered it, so evi- 
dently was it the room of a student and a scholar. 
Books lined every inch of space on the walls and 
covered the tables and many of the chairs, besides 
reposing in piles on the carpet in every available 
203 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


corner. By a latticed window stood an open desk, 
covered with papers and surmounted by a beautiful 
ivory crucifix. But for the touch given by the last 
it would have been possible to imagine oneself in 
the study of a man of letters rather than in that of 
a priest. 

And, as a matter of fact, it was both. Long 
before he was a priest, or even a Catholic, Albert 
Thorne had been a noted essayist, critic, and re- 
viewer. His conversion, some twenty years before, 
had been one of the sensations of the time; and the 
shock to his friends was immeasurably increased 
when, not content with becoming a Catholic, he 
entered a seminary and became a priest. While 
they lamented his loss to the world of letters, how- 
ever, there were those among his new friends and 
superiors who were quite determined that this loss 
should not be final. So after his ordination he 
found himself, somewhat to his disgust, appointed 
to the charge of a suburban parish, which was open 
to the reproach of being what is popularly known 
as “an easy berth.” A few wealthy families on one 
side, to whose liberality the erection of the church 
was due, and a few laboring people from a manufac- 
turing village on the other, made up a congregation 
the demands of which were so small as to leave the 
priest in charge with a large amount of leisure upon 
his hands. The newly made rector came, looked 
about him, surveyed the ground, and then paid a 
visit to his bishop. There he modestly but firmly 
represented that, while he was prepared to do any 
work, however humble or however hard, to which he 
might be assigned, he was not prepared to be shelved 

204 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


into a quiet rural retreat where, one might say, 
there was no work at all to do. 

“My dear Father Thorne,” said the bishop, 
quietly, “ do you not understand that I have put you 
in this place because it gives scope for the work you 
are specially fitted to do? I know that you laid 
your talent and your fame as a sacrifice on the altar 
of God. But now I ask you to take them up again 
and work with them for God. We have many priests 
who can hear confessions and administer the sacra- 
ments, and a few who c^n preach good sermons ; but 
we have, in this diocese at least, only one who is a 
writer; and I am determined that if you fail to 
write, it -shall not be my fault.” 

And to this decision, mildly but firmly, the bishop 
adhered. 

“Try it for a year at least,” he finally said. “If 
at the end of that time you still desire a change, I 
promise that you shall have it.” 

So to Our Lady of the Angels returned the ex- 
man of letters, and all that the bishop had foreseen 
came to pass. Allured by the opening of a wider 
scholarship than he had ever known before, and 
with the power of expression burning within him, 
the priest gathered books about him, took up his 
pen; and lo ! twenty years passed and found him 
still in this quiet spot, doing the work of God as it 
was given him to do. In that time the size of his 
congregation had much increased; but there were 
few of his people who knew or could have been 
brought to understand that the priest whom they 
were accustomed to see fulfilling all his duties with 
scrupulous fidelity was also a deep philosophical 
205 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


thinker, and an essayist with a European reputa- 
tion. The great foreign reviews accepted eagerly all 
that he wrote; but in his own country his fame was 
confined to the class of Catholics who are lovers and 
readers of books; while — so narrow are the walls 
which enclose much of what is called intellectual 
culture ! — those who were his warmest admirers, 
and in a certain sense his disciples, in the old days 
before his conversion to the Church, knew absolutely 
nothing of his present work. 

And it was this man whom Irma found at her 
gate, as it were, and with whom she made fast 
friends over the cup of tea taken in his book-lined 
study on the day of their first meeting. They were 
quick in reading each other; and perhaps the sur- 
prise was equal on both sides, — on hers, to find a 
man of letters and wide literary culture in this 
priest of a small country parish ; and on his, to per- 
ceive the depth of thought and elevation of purpose 
in this girl, so young and so lovely, on whom had 
fallen the weight of a great heritage. Deeply inter- 
ested, they talked long of many things; and when she 
finally went away, the priest stood for some time in 
the door of his house, looking thoughtfully after her. 

‘‘What will she make of it all.? ” he said at last, 
half aloud, — “of her wealth, her youth, her beauty, 
her charming mental gifts.? It is hard to imagine, 
impossible to foresee. But if she misses some of 
the rocks which are ahead of her, it will be only by 
the mercy and the help of God.” 

Several weeks had passed since that day, during 
which Irma had made many more acquaintances, and 
206 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


grown, in a measure at least, familiar with her sur- 
roundings, when one afternoon she was again walk- 
ing to the little church. Among other things, she 
had learned something of the freedom which is per- 
mitted the American girl; so on this occasion she 
had not summoned Margherita to accompany her, 
but had contented herself with the companionship 
of Rex. It was a perfect day for exercise, and girl 
and dog enjoyed the walk through the quiet lane 
which led to the church. 

Arrived there, Irma found the door open; for it 
was the eve of a feast, and the priest was certain 
either to be in the confessional or else quietly read- 
ing his Breviary beside it, awaiting penitents. Bid- 
ding Rex remain in the porch, — where he obediently 
lay down, — she entered the church, and did not 
return for a considerable time. When she reap- 
peared a rather surprising scene greeted her as she 
emerged from the door. 

Seated on one of the benches which were placed 
on either side of the porch were an old man and a 
child; and standing before them, receiving and 
returning their friendly attentions with an air of the 
greatest affability, was Rex. Now, Rex was not a 
dog who held himself cheap, or who was ever known 
to respond to the advances of strangers. As a 
matter of fact, he severely ignored many people who 
had a claim to his consideration, — notably Mrs. 
Treherne, — and therefore his present attitude seemed 
to indicate either some bond of old acquaintance or 
a remarkable exception to his usual habits. 

“ Rex ! ” said Irma, in a tone which expressed her 
surprise. And as Rex turned and came toward her 
207 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


with a shade of apology in his manner, the old man 
before whom he had been standing rose to his feet 
with an air of agitation. 

‘‘Have I — do I — is this Miss Dairacote?” he 
asked, stammering a little. 

Irma looked at him and was at once struck by two 
things, — the first, his thin and shrunken aspect; 
the second, his pathetic brown eyes. She had no 
doubt why he wished to know who she was. Already 
she had learned much of the appeals for aid which 
beset those who are supposed to possess great 
wealth. 

“Yes,” she answered, “I am Miss Darracote. I 
see that my dog has made acquaintance with you.” 

“We have not needed to make acquaintance: we 
have known each other a long time,” the old man 
said. “He often came down to the business house 
with his master, Mr. Darracote; and I was the 
person there whom he liked best.” 

“You knew my cousin, Mr. Darracote, then.? 
You were one of his — how do you say in English .? 
— employes } ” Irma asked with interest. 

“I was in his employ for thirty years,” was the 
leply; and I left it only when the business was 
closed at his death.” 

“How faithful you must have been!” said the 
girl, quickly and sweetly. “ And now perhaps you 
feel the need — the want of employment .? ” 

Wilkins — for of course it was he — shook his 
head. 

“I miss the occupation,” he said, “but I am grow- 
ing old, and it is well enough to rest. Besides, I 
have a charge — ” 


208 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


He paused and glanced at the child, who remained 
sitting on the bench from which he had risen. 

Irma’s glance followed his own, and rested on a 
girl of eight or nine years, with a small, sallow face 
and a flowing mane of pale yellow hair. Something 
in the child’s aspect — some look of unchildlike 
gravity .and ill health — struck her attention and 
roused her sympathy. She put out her hand and 
stroked the thin little cheek with a soft touch. 

“She is, perhaps, your grandchild ” she asked 
kindly. And then, without waiting for reply : “ Has 
she no mother? ” 

“No,” he answered; and there seemed something 
at once disquieting and fascinating to him in the 
sight of that slender hand touching the child’s 
cheek, for he did not take his eyes from it. “ She 
has no mother. She has nobody but me.” 

“Poor child!” said Irma, still looking at the 
pinched little face, out of which a pair of blue eyes 
solemnly stared back at her. “ But, though she has 
no mother, I am sure she is fortunate in having 
you,” she added, turning her own eyes again, with a 
great look of kindness in them, on the old man who 
was watching her. 

He caught his breath with what was almost a 
gasp. 

“God knows,” he said, “I have not been able to 
do much for her, but I try — ” 

“ Oh, you can do much, very much ! ” Irma re- 
turned quickly. “You do not know, perhaps, what 
a man can do for a motherless child, and what he 
can be to her. I know; for when I was younger 
than this child my mother died, and from that time 
14 209 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


my father was everything to me. I felt no want: 
he filled my world, filled it with love and tender- 
ness and companionship — ” She paused; then, 
after a moment, went on, with one of the smiles 
which are close akin to tears: ‘^We were such 
friends, he and I; and so, I fancy, are you two.” 

“Yes,” said Wilkins, simply. And now he turned 
and laid his hand on the child’s shoulder. “We 
are good friends, Lily, are we not ? ” 

“Oh, yes!” answered the child, in a tone of 
indifference. Her eyes were still fixed on Irma. 
And, after an instant, she added: “But I am very 
lonesome sometimes.” 

“That is because she has no companions of her 
own age,” he explained. “There are reasons why I 
don’t wish her to associate with those who are about 
us; and she is lonely, I know.” 

“ Would you like to come to see me ? ” asked Irma, 
looking with renewed compassion at the thin, un- 
childlike face. “Argyle — that is where I live — 
is a beautiful place, and you would find pleasure in 
running about the grounds. I suppose you live near 
here.? ” she added, glancing again at the old man. 

And then, unconsciously, she drew back a step, 
amazed at the expression of his, face. For what did 
it mean, that look which she surprised, of — dislike 
was it, or distrust or antagonism, or all together.? 
But as she drew back the lids fell over the eyes 
which had spoken so plainly, and he answered her 
question. 

“ We live very near here,” he said. “ Since I am 
out of business, I have left the city. It is more 
healthy in the suburbs for the child. She is not 


210 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


very robust, as you may see. And it is kind of you 
to ask her to go to Argyle. ” 

“I shall be glad if she will come,” said Irma. 
But as she spoke she felt that she had made a mis- 
take, — how or why it was impossible to tell, — that 
her kindness was misunderstood, and that in some 
indefinable way she had given offence. She drew 
on her gloves and looked around for Rex. ** And I 
shall also be glad if I can do anything for you,” she 
added. “I feel that one who was so long in the 
employ of Mr. Darracote has a claim upon me.” 

Then, with a slight bow of salutation, and fol- 
lowed by the dog, she passed out of the porch. 

Wilkins looked after her with an expression of 
almost piteous indecision. At one moment it 
seemed as if he would start forward and follow her ; 
but while he hesitated the slender, black-clad figure 
vanished around a bend of the road, and at the same 
moment the priest appeared in the church door. 

I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Mr. 
Wilkins,” he said. ''But perhaps, after all, the 
delay has given you the opportunity you desired. 
Did I not hear you talking to Miss Darracote? ” 

"Yes, Father,” Wilkins replied slowly; "I was 
talking to her, but — but I confess that I cannot 
understand Miss Darracote.” 

" Why ? ” the priest asked with some surprise. 
"Why can you not understand her?” 

"I cannot understand,” the other answered, how 
one who seems so kind could have acted as she did 
when she refused to see me, or how she failed to 
know who I am.” 

" You did not tell her your name ? ” 

2IT 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


‘‘No. I was about to tell her, but her manner 
puzzled me so much that I broke off in what I was 
saying; and then it struck me that perhaps it was as 
well to leave it untold. The fact is ” (he looked at 
the priest appealingly), “I lost my wits. She was 
so different from what I anticipated that I did not 
know what to do or what to say.” 

“Ah!” murmured Father Thorne. He sat down 
and smoothed his chin meditatively for a few 
minutes. Presently he said quietly: “I think there 
is one simple explanation of all that puzzled you in 
Miss Darracote’s manner. I don’t believe that she 
has ever heard of you at all.” 

“ But that is impossible ! ” the old clerk cried. 
“I went to Argyle and she refused to see me.” 

“ How do you know that she refused to see you ? ” 
“Because the answer was brought to me directly 
from herself.” 

“ By a servant ? ” 

“No. If it had been brought by a servant, I 
might suppose that there was some mistake; but it 
was brought by a lady who kindly interested her- 
self to see Miss Darracote, and who told me that she 
positively refused to see me.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the priest again. “ And that lady — ” 
“I forget her name. She was related to Mr. 
Darracote in some way, and lived at Argyle during 
his life. I met her there the night he died.” 

“And do you not think it possible that this lady 
might have deceived you and never taken your mes- 
sage to Miss Darracote.? ” 

Wilkins stared for a moment, and then said 
slowly : 


212 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ I can’t think it possible. What interest had 
she in the matter.? Why should she have deceived 
me?” 

“Those questions are not easy to answer,” the 
priest replied; “but such a deception is possible; 
whereas in my opinion it is not possible that Miss 
Darracote refused to see you. I have not known her 
very long, but I know enough of her to be sure of 
that.” 

“If you think so,” Wilkins said, with a startled 
look on his face, — “ if you really think so. Father, 
I will go back to Argyle to-morrow. And I am 
sorry that I lost the opportunity of making myself 
known to her when she was here.” 

“Don’t regret it,” said Father Thorne; “and 
don’t go to Argyle to-morrow. There is no need 
for haste, you know; and let us see our way clear 
before we move. I promise you this: that when the 
proper moment comes I myself will speak to Miss 
Darracote in your behalf, and I think you will find 
that I shall not speak in vain. But can you trust 
me sufficiently to wait patiently until, in my judg- 
ment, that moment arrives .? ” 

Peter Wilkins looked into the benignant face 
beside him, with eyes which spoke of trust as well 
as gratitude. 

“Yes, Father,” he replied; “if you will do this 
for me, I will be patient for any length of time, and 
ask nothing better than to leave all in your hands.” 


2^3 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


VII 

OOD-DAY, Miss Darracote ! What fortunate 
\jr chance has brought you here ? ” 

At sound of the voice, already grown familiar to her 
ear, Irma turned quickly. Hastings was in the act of 
letting himself out of a gate which, backed by shrub- 
bery, opened on the lane. Of his pleasure at the 
unexpected encounter there was no doubt. It shone 
in his eyes and spoke in the smile on his lips as he 
came forward. The girl smiled too, with a sudden 
sense of quickening interest. 

“It is not at all a remarkable chance which has 
brought me,” she replied. “ I have been to church. 
But you — what are you doing here ? ” 

“ Something less commendable and even less re- 
markable,” he answered, falling into step beside her 
as she walked on. “ You don’t know that these are 
the grounds of my cottage. The house is behind 
that shrubbery. A lucky impulse brought me out to 
see what thinning of trees and shrubs is necessary 
before the spring — for I never leave these things to 
a gardener — and behold an unexpected vision of a 
lady and a dog comes into sight to reward me ! ” 

“For what?” she asked. “A reward presupposes 
something for which to be rewarded, does it not? 
Was it very virtuous of you to walk out and look at 
your shrubbery? ” 

“Not so virtuous certainly as if I had gone to 
church like yourself. But, then, you must remember 
that you are you and I am I, and our virtues must be 
214 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


measured by different scales. What would be quite 
an indifferent act on your part might be an act of 
shining virtue for me. But, setting the question of 
reward aside, I may be allowed to congratulate my- 
self that you happened to go to church this afternoon. 
There is, I know, a little Roman Catholic chapel in 
the neighborhood.” 

“ Yes, at a convenient distance for a walk ; and the 
walk itself through this quiet lane is very pleasant.” 

“The lane is quiet because these are private 
grounds on both sides ; but there are possibilities of 
tramps loitering about, so I hope you never take the 
walk unattended.” 

“ I have always before had Margherita with me, but 
to-day I thought Rex was a sufficient attendant. And 
he has, you know, the great recommendation that he 
does not talk.” 

“Rex, old fellow, do you hear that?” asked 
Hastings, patting the dog. “What a crushing re- 
mark to a man who does talk ! I am afraid I had 
better return to my shrubbery.” 

“ Oh, but you see I was thinking of poor, dear 
Margherita!” said Irma, laughing and blushing. 
“ She is very fond of talking ; and since I am the only 
person to whom she really can talk, I feel bound to 
give her the pleasure of talking with me as much as 
possible. But — well, sometimes one grows a little 
tired ; and so to-day I thought I would indulge my- 
self in a walk with Rex for my companion.” 

“ I hope he properly appreciates the honor. ^ And 
are you sure that you have had enough of silence, 
and that you do not object to a little talk now? ” 

“ Quite sure,” she replied frankly. “ Indeed, I am 

215 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


glad to meet you, for I should like to ask you a 
question.” 

“ I am at your service to answer fifty if need be.” 

“ One will be sufficient, I think.” She turned her 
face toward him as she spoke ; and he noted the lovely 
lines of cheek and chin, the ivory skin, the picturesque 
masses of dark, curling hair under her black hat, the 
mingled softness and brilliance of the dark eyes. 
“ Do you chance to know anybody who was employed 
in the business house of Mr. Darracote?” she in- 
quired. 

“Yes — after a fashion, I know several of the clerks 
who were longest with him,” Hastings answered. 
“ Of course I don’t know much about them : merely 
their names and appearance. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ Because I wonder if perhaps you know one whom 
I have just met. It was at the church door. When 
I came out I found Rex on the most friendly terms 
with an old man who was sitting in the porch. That 
was so unusual in Rex that it surprised me; and 
the man, seeing my surprise, said that they were old 
acquaintances, — that the dog used sometimes to ac- 
company his master to his business, and had there 
known him, who was an employe of the house. I 
asked him if he had been long in Mr. Darracote s 
employ. He replied that he had been in the house 
for thirty years, and left it only when it was closed. 
Now, that seemed sad ; for he is an old man, and very 
thin and frail in appearance, with brown eyes that have 
an appealing look in them.” 

“ Peter Wilkins, by Jove ! ” exclaimed Hastings, 
involuntarily. 

“ Ah ! you do know him, then ? ” said she, with in- 
3i6 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


terest. “Is Peter Wilkins his name? He did not 
mention it to me. In fact, his manner was very sin- 
gular. At first, when he inquired if I was Miss Darra- 
cote, I thought he was about to ask something — 
some assistance, perhaps. But almost immediately he 
seemed to disclaim such an intention, and yet he 
spoke and looked so strangely. Then there was a 
child.” 

“ That is rather odd. Without positively knowing 
anything about it, I fancied the old fellow had no 
family. However, the child may not be related to 
him.” 

“ She is, I understood him to say, his grandchild. 
Her mother is dead, and she has no one but him. 
You don’t know how that touched me. It reminded 
me ” — a mist rose into the beautiful eyes — “ of my 
dear father and myself. So I spoke to the child, 
who looks very sickly and out of spirits, and asked 
her if she would not like to come to see me at Ar- 
gyle. And then a strange thing happened — ” 

“ What? ” asked Hastings, as she paused. 

“ It is rather difficult to describe. I glanced at 
the old man, fancying he would be pleased ; and I 
met a look — such a look ! It seemed to express 
anger, dislike, offence, even enmity, all at once. No 
one had ever looked at me like that before, and I 
was very much startled. I came away quickly, and 
I could not but wonder what I had possibly done 
or said to rouse such feelings. I was wondering still 
when you spoke to me, and it occurred to me that 
perhaps you could tell me.” 

“ No,” Hastings answered ; “ I am as much at a loss 
as yourself, and as much surprised. My knowledge 
217 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


of Wilkins is slight, but I should never have imagined 
him a person to entertain such feelings as you de- 
scribe. But these things are inexplicable sometimes 
— I mean the enmity which is excited in a certain 
class of minds by any offer of kindness, or what they 
take to be charity, from the rich.” 

“ But, surely,” said Irma, earnestly, “ it could not 
have been that. One cannot fancy the most sensi- 
tive person finding anything offensive in asking a 
child to come to see one. And I was so sorry for 
the poor little thing ! She looked so thin and pale, 
and she said that she was ‘ lonesome.’ Possibly this 
Mr. Wilkins feels that he has been badly treated in 
being thrown upon the world after thirty years of 
service, perhaps without any recognition of his long 
and faithful work. For it must have been faithful, 
or it would not have been so long. He should cer- 
tainly have a — pension, do you not call it? That 
thought struck me as soon as he mentioned how 
many years he had served Mr. Darracote; and I 
should have told him that it would give me pleas- 
ure to offer him one, if I had been allowed the 
opportunity.” 

“ It was a very kind and generous thought on your 
part,” said Hastings ; “ but there is not the faintest 
obligation upon you to do such a thing. Mr. Dar- 
racote was a man who always dealt liberally as well 
as justly with those who served him, and this man 
was no doubt well paid for his thirty years’ service.” 

Perhaps we differ a little in our idea of what 
constitutes an obligation,” said she, gently. “ It 
strikes me in this way ; here is a man who is now 
too old to work, and who gave the best years of his 
218 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


life in helping to build up a great fortune in which 
he has no share. Surely out of that fortune there 
might be spared — as a matter of justice there should 
be spared — a sum sufficient to ensure him ease and 
comfort as long as he lives. It seems to me that 
this would have been an obligation on Mr. Darracote 
had he lived, and that it is an obligation on me, who 
represent him now.” 

Hastings looked at her with an air of mingled ad- 
miration and indulgence. There was nothing with 
which he had less sympathy than with anything that 
savored of what he called “socialism” — which is a 
word that with many people covers many things 
which are not socialism at all. His creed was that 
of the average man of the world, who finds it con- 
venient to disapprove of charity as “pauperizing” 
those to whom it is extended, and who regards any de- 
mand for the equity, which in the dealings of man with 
man is far above mere justice, as equivalent to raising 
the red flag. But even genuine socialism would have 
had a charm for him just then, if preached by that 
winning voice and seconded by those eloquent eyes. 
Moreover, recollection of the girl’s father — whom 
Mrs. Treherne had described as “ a cross between a 
Socialist and a saint ” — occurred to him and ex- 
plained the source of her ideas. Young, generous, 
sympathetic, and absolutely inexperienced, was it 
strange she should wish to practise the theories 
which a father so passionately loved had no doubt 
preached to her? 

“ I am afraid,” he said, “ that you are going to 
prove a very demoralizing person. If it is known 
that you are prepared to pension all those who aided 
219 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


in building up your fortune, you will not only be 
overwhelmed with applications, but you will find that 
it will require a large slice of the fortune to meet the 
demands upon it. And, after all, you will not bene- 
fit others nor win gratitude for yourself.” 

“ Gratitude would not matter,” she replied ; “ but 
why should I not benefit others? I have known 
many people to whom a little money would have 
been the greatest of benefits, and who, I think, would 
have been grateful for it too. But, really, nothing 
so general and so indiscriminate as pensioning all 
those who aided in building up Mr. Darracote’s 
fortune has occurred to me. I have thought only 
of this old man, whose appearance and manner I can- 
not forget. It is impossible to resist the impression 
that he was in need of something — that he wanted 
something which it is in my power to give.” 

“ He is, I think, rather a peculiar person : excita- 
ble, and possibly not well-balanced,” said Hastings. 

As he spoke, there passed through his mind a re- 
membrance of the events in which Peter Wilkins 
had played a part the night Mr. Darracote died. 
Irma’s words recalled to him the strange agitation 
and excitement of the old clerk, the pleading which 
had wrought even upon himself to such an unusual 
degree. And it had never been explained ! Mr. 
Darracote, strangely enough, had consented to see 
the man ; but no one knew what passed at the inter- 
view, and it seemed to have had no result. But was 
it not possible that this meeting with Miss Darracote, 
the manner and glance which made so deep an im- 
pression upon her, had some connection with that 
past event? A sudden instinct told Hastings that 
230 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


it was so; that the same cause which had brought 
Peter Wilkins to his employers death-bed brought 
him now across the path of the heiress. And, if so, 
what could it mean but annoyance for her, — annoy- 
ance in some form with which she in her ignorance 
of life would not be able to cope? 

As the conviction came to him like a flash of in- 
tuition, he felt himself suddenly filled with the 
spirit of a defender. It should not be, he said to 
himself. Whatever the cause, whatever the mystery, 
whatever dark page there might have been in Mr. 
Darracote’s life, as in that of many another man, no 
shadow from a past with which she had nothing to 
do should come to distress, and perhaps to torment 
with fanciful scruples this innocent girl. If Peter 
Wilkins attempted any annoyance of the kind, he 
should quickly learn that Miss Darracote had friends 
who would promptly and effectively deal with him. 
And meanwhile it might be well to give her a slight 
warning, a word of advice. 

“ If you will allow me to suggest,” he said, “ you 
will put this matter out of your mind. The man 
cannot possibly be in any need ; and his peculiarities 
— which I now recall — are so marked that he is not 
at all a safe person to encourage.” 

“ But the child ! ” said Irma, appealingly. “ I feel 
so sorry for the child. And all the more because 
there is so little that is childlike about her. I should 
like to bring some smiles to her poor little, thin, 
discontented face.” 

You will set me down as a hard-hearted monster, 
I fear, when I say that the only result of your kind- 
ness would probably be to make her more discon- 
221 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


tented,” answered Hastings. “ Believe me, it does no 
good to give people glimpses of things which they 
can never possess. What has the grandchild of 
Peter Wilkins to do with Argyle? By showing it to 
her you will only make her dissatisfied with her own 
lot and her own home.” 

Irma shook her charming head. 

“Not necessarily,” she said. “I am positive on 
that point, because I speak from experience ; while 
you, I fancy, are only theorizing. I have no more 
delightful memories than those of visits which papa 
and I used to pay to palaces and villas, where we 
would wander through beautiful gardens which were 
no more ours than Argyle would be the property of 
the child of whom you speak. But did that mar our 
enjoyment, or make us discontented with our home 
when we returned to it? Never for one moment. 
On the contrary, papa would often say, as he lighted 
his pipe after our return, what a very good thing it 
was to have only the enjoyment of those beautiful 
places, and not the trouble and expense of taking 
care of them.” 

“ To such a convincing example I have nothing to 
reply, except that I am quite sure you will not find 
many people in the world who look at life with the 
eyes of your father and yourself,” rejoined Hastings. 
“ But to return to the subject of Wilkins, let me at 
least beg one favor of you : don’t take any steps 
with regard to him or his grandchild until I have 
made some inquiries about him. I assure you that I 
make this request for your own protection.” 

“ How kind you are ! ” she said gratefully. “ It is 
what I should have asked if I had not feared to 


222 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


trouble you too much — that you would find out 
something about him. In spite of your advice, I can- 
not feel satisfied to do nothing. But if you will make 
some inquiries I shall be deeply obliged.” 

“ It is I who am obliged by being allowed to do 
you even so slight a service,” Hastings answered. 

And as he uttered the words — such words as a 
man of his training utters almost involuntarily to a 
woman — he had a passing emotion of surprise at his 
own sincerity. 


VIII 


HE day after the meeting with Irma in the lane 



Hastings surprised Mr. Kirby by appearing 


in his office. Notwithstanding this surprise, however, 
that busy lawyer and man of affairs greeted very 
cordially the man of leisure, whom theoretically he 
disapproved and personally liked. “ Sit down, he 
said, and let me know what I can do for you.” 

“As briefly as possible, I suppose,” Hastings 
responded. “ I know that an idler like myself is an 
object of suspicion, but I have not come to trouble 
you without a reason. I want to ask a question on 
behalf of Miss Darracote.” 

Ah ! — on behalf of Miss Darracote ! ” repeated 
the lawyer. There was an immediate accession of 
interest in his manner, as he swung his chair around 
to face the man seated opposite him, — a picture, as 
usual, of composure and cool self-possession. “ And 
what is the question ? ” 

“One which will probably seem to you very 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


unimportant. Do you know anything of one of Mr. 
Darracote’s old clerks whose name is Peter Wilkins? ” 

Hastings put the question carelessly enough, but 
the name with which he concluded had hardly passed 
his lips when he saw in Mr. Kirby’s face that he did 
not consider it unimportant. A sudden and grave 
change came over the lawyer’s countenance. 

“Has Miss Darracote seen Peter Wilkins?” he 
asked, in his turn. 

“ She met him yesterday,” Hastings answered ; 
“ and something in his manner made such a deep 
impression upon her that when I saw her soon after- 
ward, she asked me if I knew anything about him. 
Of course I could give her little information ; but I 
tried to dissuade her from an intention she had con- 
ceived of offering him a pension, on the ground of his 
thirty years’ service with Mr. Darracote.” 

“Tut, tut!” said Mr. Kirby, impatiently. “She 
has no reason to do anything of the kind.” 

“So I represented to her, but I fear with little 
success. There was also a child who seemed to have 
roused her sympathy very much — ” 

“ What I ” interrupted the lawyer. “ Had Wilkins 
a child with him? ” 

“Yes: his grandchild, so he said or she supposed. 
Pitying the child’s appearance. Miss Darracote asked 
her if she would not like to visit Argyle ; and then 
something singular occurred. She glanced at Wil- 
kins and met a look which she describes as express- 
ing resentment and even absolute enmity.” 

“Where did this meeting take place?” 

“ At the door of a small Catholic churcE in the 
neighborhood of Argyle. The meeting seems to 
224 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


have been altogether accidental ; but Wilkins ad- 
dressed Miss Darracote, and she is certain that he 
had some request which he wished to make. When 
she described the man’s appearance and manner, the 
description at once recalled to me the extraordinary 
scene which he made on the night of Mr. Darracote’s 
death. You remember having heard of it? ” 

Mr. Kirby nodded. 

“ It strikes me, therefore, that Wilkins must be 
mentally unbalanced or else that he has a knowledge 
of some episode in Mr. Darracote’s life which is of a 
nature to make him think his silence worth buying. 
In either case. Miss Darracote should be protected 
against him; for her generous impulses, combined 
with her inexperience, render her particularly liable 
to become the victim of such a person.” 

Hastings uttered the last words in the tone of one 
who expects an unhesitating assent, but Mr. Kirby 
did not answer for a moment. He sat silent, in an 
attitude of consideration, — his brows drawn together 
and the fingers of one hand lightly tapping on the 
desk beside him. 

“ I agree with you that Miss Darracote must be 
protected,” he at length said, “ although neither of 
your opinions with regard to Wilkins is correct. He 
is not mentally unbalanced, and he is not trying to 
levy blackmail on any discreditable secret. He is 
simply, and I believe disinterestedly, trying to secure 
justice for a person whom he considers wronged.” 

“ And who is that person ? ” 

“ One whom he believes to be the natural heir of 
Mr. Darracote. There is no reason why I should 
not tell you the story, as he told it to me after Mr. 

15 225 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Darracote’s death; for it will become a matter of 
public knowledge if he decides to carry the claim 
into a court of law. Briefly, then, you are probably 
aware that Mr. Darracote was married twice — his 
first wife dying when he was quite a young man, 
before he came to this city or made his fortune ? ” 

“ Yes,” Hastings answered. “ I have heard my 
father mention the fact; and also that there was a 
daughter who made some marriage which he con- 
sidered disgraceful and never forgave.” 

“ She eloped, while at school, with an actor, and 
the circumstances of the elopement as well as the 
character of the man were, I gather, so particularly 
bad that Mr. Darracote was justified in sternly repu- 
diating her. At all events, he did so; and she at 
once went on the stage, where she was successful as 
an actress. With her husband, she drifted out to 
Australia, and there the man disappears from the 
story. In the usual theatrical fashion, they disagreed 
and parted. She married again and yet again — 
Heaven only knows how often ! Finally, while still 
enough of a popular favorite to have kept her from 
troubling her father, she died. Soon after a man 
appeared here, claiming to have been her last hus- 
band, and bringing a, child with him who he declared 
was hers. To this man Mr. Darracote said: ‘With 
you I have nothing to do. You have not the faintest 
claim upon me. But if you can bring me satis- 
factory proof that the child of whom you talk is 
really my daughter’s, I will provide for her. Asser- 
tions amount to nothing. Understand that I must 
have proof; and if you cannot produce it, there is 
not the least need for you to trouble me again.’ 

226 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


This was his ultimatum, and we, who knew him, can 
imagine how unbending he was in maintaining it.” 

“ That is easily imagined. But where does Peter 
Wilkins enter the story?” 

“ Just at this point. He met the man and child — 
how or where is a detail which does not matter — 
and had his sympathies very much excited. The 
man, it seems, was dying of consumption, and was, 
or professed to be, very anxious about the future of 
the child. Wilkins listened to his story and under- 
took to approach Mr. Darracote again. He was met 
by the same reply : ‘ I will run no risk of rewarding 
imposture. Either bring proof that the child is what 
he claims, or do not come to me again.’ So Wilkins 
went to work to obtain if possible the necessary 
proof. 

“Meanwhile the man — Vidal, I believe, was his 
name — died ; and the child being destitute, Wilkins 
took charge of her. According to his own account, 
he has left no means in his power untried to prove 
that she is what he believes her to be. He was not 
able to send an agent to Australia, but he wrote 
unceasingly; and whenever he obtained anything 
which he regarded as proof he carried it to Mr. Dar- 
racote. But nothing which he obtained was of a 
convincing nature, and finally Mr. Darracote forbade 
him to mention the subject to him again. So matters 
went on for a considerable time, until at last Wilkins 
received an affidavit from a woman whom, by means 
of letters, he had long sought, which he regarded as 
conclusive evidence of the child’s parentage, and 
which he hoped would appear so to Mr. Darracote. 
But when the paper arrived Mr. Darracote was dying. 

227 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Nevertheless, out to Argyle rushed Peter Wilkins; 
and you, who met him that night, will remember his 
passionate appeal to be allowed to see the man 
whose end was so near.” 

“ I remember that it impressed me so much that I 
carried his message to Mr. Darracote, who consented 
to see him,” said Hastings. “ But he could not have 
regarded the proof as conclusive, for nothing came 
of the interview.” 

You forget. Much came of it. I was sent for in 
haste, but before I reached Argyle Mr. Darracote 
was dead.” 


“ And from the fact that you were sent for, do you 
believe that he accepted the proof? ” 

“ No. He was too clear-headed a man for that — 
I mean to accept it absolutely. But I believe that for 
the first time, probably, he began to think it possible 
that the child was really his grandchild. From my' 
knowledge of his character — of his strong sense of 
justice and his highly developed cautiousness — I 
think that what he intended was to add a codicil to 
his will, directing that the matter should be thor- 
oughly looked into ; and that, in case the necessary 
proofs of the child’s parentage were found, she should 
be properly provided for. That is what I should 
have expected Mr. Darracote to do, and what Peter 
Wilkins thinks that he meant to do.” 


It IS a strange and certainly a very unexpected 
story, said Hastings. His composure of manner was 
unmoved, but in his eyes surprise and many other 
emotions were shining. ” What is the legal aspect of 
the case? what does the claim amount to as it 
stands? ” 


228 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ Very little — and very much,” Mr. Kirby an- 
swered. “ That sounds oracular, but my meaning 
can be easily explained. The proof offered is at 
present insufficient to establish the child’s claim. 
But it is amply sufficient to found a lawsuit upon, 
which might last for years. Of course, when Wilkins 
came to me I gave him no encouragement whatever. 
But he has only to go to another lawyer to be assured 
that he has a good chance to succeed if he carries 
his case into the courts. Evidently, however, he 
hesitates to take this step, and has decided to ap- 
peal to Miss Darracote for what he conceives to be 
justice.” 

‘‘ If he is allowed to do that, you will probably be 
summoned by Miss Darracote to make out the neces- 
sary legal documents for transferring the estate from 
herself to this waif and stray of a child.” 

“ Hardly,” said the lawyer, with an incredulous 
smile. “ She is very young, and no doubt generous, 
but she is not likely to carry generosity to such a 
point as that. She might, however, wish to do more 
than is at all advisable or necessary, — that I readily 
believe, — and therefore some steps should be devised 
for her protection. Now, the question is, what steps 
are likely to be effective ? ” 

“ Only one possible plan occurs to me,” said Hast- 
ings. “ Let Peter Wilkins know that' you will send 
an agent to Australia to examine into the proof of 
the child’s parentage, on the condition that in the 
meantime he does not approach, address, or in any 
way trouble Miss Darracote.” 

Mr. Kirby glanced keenly at the speaker. 

“ A very good plan,” he said. “ But I need scarcely 
229 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


remind you that means are required to send an agent 
to Australia.” 

“ Draw upon me for the means,” was the quiet 
reply. I shall regard it as a small return for Mr. 
Darracote’s liberal bequest to me, if I am able to 
settle this matter, which cannot be left in its present 
condition.” 

“ It is the only wise thing to do, and should have 
been done long since by Mr. Darracote himself,” said 
the lawyer. He paused and drummed again for a 
moment with his fingers on the desk. “ But you 
must be prepared for the possibility that the proofs 
of the parentage may be found,” he suddenly added, 
in a warning tone. 

Hastings smiled as their eyes met. 

“ I understand that,” he said. “ But if the proofs 
exist they will sooner or later come to light ; for it is 
only a question of time when Peter Wilkins will bring 
the claim to the notice of some one who, as a matter 
of speculation, will provide all the means necessary. 
It is better, therefore, to know the truth at once. 
When we do know it, you can go to Mis.^ Darra- 
cote, lay the facts before her and advise her how to 
act. Under such circumstances it is possible that 
she rnay listen to your advice. But if the matter is 
brought to her knowledge by Wilkins, her sympa- 
thies worked upon, and certain quixotic ideas which 
she has aroused, it might be impossible for you or 
any one else to prevent her from throwing away her 
fortune.” 

“ I must believe that you are mistaken,” said Mr. 
Kirby. ‘‘ I have seen nothing in the young lady that 
could lead me to think her — well, in plain language, 
230 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


such a fool. But, putting aside any question of what 
she might be led to do, it will certainly be well to 
save her from annoyance. So I will send for Wilkins, 
and put him under strict bond not to molest her.” 

“ Send for him immediately,” said Hastings, with 
emphasis. “ It was a mere chance which prevented 
his addressing her on the subject yesterday; but, 
with the encouragement which she gave him, he 
may go to Argyle at any time. And if he sees 
her, precaution will be too late.” 

“ I shall lose no time,” replied the lawyer. He 
hesitated a moment, glanced doubtfully at the other, 
who began to draw on his gloves, and then said, a 
little hastily : 

“ I am sure, Mr. Hastings, that as an old friend of 
Mr. Darracote, and one well acquainted with his 
wishes, you will let me say that I am glad to think 
that this interest in Miss Darracote means that you 
are disposed to realize his hope with regard to both 
of you.” 

Hastings looked up with slightly elevated eyebrows. 

“ I was not aware,” he said, “ that Mr. Darracote 
mentioned the hope to which you allude to any one 
beside myself.” 

“ My business with him on the night of his death,” 
said Mr. Kirby, “ was to write at his dictation a letter 
to his cousin, Mr. Gilbert Darracote, fully setting forth 
his wishes on the point. It cost me, I assure you, a 
great deal of anxious thought to decide what dispo- 
sition to make of that letter after I heard of the sud- 
den death of the man to whom it was addressed.” 

“ And what disposition did you make of it? ” asked 
Hastings. 

231 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


The lawyer pointed to a box, labelled “ Darracote,” 
in a pigeon-hole before him. 

“It is there,” he said. “Strictly speaking, I was 
perhaps bound to turn it over to Mr. Gilbert Darra- 
cote’s daughter. But, knowing its contents, I could 
not bring myself to put it in her hands. And, frankly, 
Mr. Hastings, I was considering your interests in re- 
fraining from doing so. I was determined that for 
your own sake, as well as on account of Mr. Darra- 
cote’s wishes, you should have a fair field ; and, 
unless this young lady is unlike most of her sex, 
the request made in that letter would have had an 
effect upon her contrary to that which Mr. Darracote 
desired.” 

“ I should hardly have credited you with so much 
knowledge of feminine perversity,” Said Hastings, with 
a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “I am obliged 
for your consideration of my interests, but you seem 
to have taken my intentions very much for granted.” 

“ How was it possible for me to do otherwise when 
I saw Miss Darracote?” asked the other. “ I am an 
old man, but I have never seen a more beautiful or a 
more charming girl. And when to such attractions 
the great Darracote fortune is added — well, really, 
Mr. Hastings, I should have to entertain a much lower 
opinion than I do of your sense to imagine that there 
is any hesitation on your side to comply Vv^ith the 
earnest wish of our old friend.” 

The genuine kindness and interest of the speaker’s 
tone conquered Hastings’ reserve. After all, a man 
who knew so much might be permitted to know a 
little more, if only as a reward for his exercise of dis- 
cretion with regard to the letter. 

232 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“You are right,” he said frankly. “It is impossi- 
ble to see Miss Darracote and not feel that her for- 
tune is a very small part of her attractions. I made no 
promise to Mr. Darracote, and certainly no resolution 
to myself, regarding his wishes ; but I may say to you 
candidly that I had little idea of being able to fulfil 
them — until I met Miss Darracote. Since then I 
have felt that I shall be a fortunate man if I am per- 
mitted to fulfil them. But this is a point still alto- 
gether in doubt. As matters stand, I do not wish her 
to be troubled and annoyed by any knowledge of 
Wilkins’ threatened claim. Now I have no right to 
advise and no influence over her, and there is no 
doubt that if the matter came to her knowledge she 
would act with quixotic generosity. By means of the 
delay we have planned, I may obtain both the right 
and the influence which are lacking now, and the final 
disposition of the claim may be left in my hands. 
You will agree with me that it is worth sending a man 
to Australia to gain this end.” 

Mr. Kirby nodded his worldly-wise head. 

“ Very well worth it,” he said emphatically. “ Busi- 
ness arrangements should never be in the hands of 
women. They always incline to one extreme or the 
other, — are either too generous or too penurious. 
We must endeavor to save Miss Darracote’s fortune 
for her — if necessary against herself. You may de- 
pend that after I have seen Wilkins he will carefully 
refrain from troubling her. And, fortunately, it is a 
long distance from here to Australia.” 


233 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


IX 

“T SOMETIMES wonder,” said Irma, “ if it falls to 
the lot of many people to find themselves mis- 
taken as often as I do.” 

Her tone was slightly rueful as well as meditative, 
and Mrs. Lawton laughed. They were sitting together 
before the library fire, and had advanced very far on 
the road of confidence and intimacy, as might readily 
have been foretold that they would. 

“ I have known only a few people in my life who 
did not make mistakes, many and often,” Clare said. 
“ The exceptions — the admirable people who in their 
own opinion never make mistakes — I have found it 
best to admire at a distance as remote as possible.” 

Irma laughed also, but her expression remained 
unchanged. 

“ I know that human nature is not infallible,” she 
said, “ but I really cannot believe that other people 
make mistakes with such distressing frequency as I 
do. The result is a degree of humility which may be 
salutary, but is not agreeable.” 

We are told that humility is good for the soul,” 
said Mrs. Lawton, “ but I think that an excess of the 
virtue tends to render one self-distrustful, and self- 
distrust produces timidity. It is the old story, — we 
must beware of the defects of our qualities. I doubt 
very much if you make more mistakes than other 
people. You have only not grown accustomed to 
making them. What particular mistake are you re- 
gretting now?” 


234 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ One of presumptuous judgment. When I came 
here I believed that I should find nobody of whom I 
could make a friend. I fancied that everybody be- 
longing to this new world into which I had entered 
would be like those whom I had already seen, and 
therefore that I could have nothing in common with 
any of them. Yet within a month I have learned my 
mistake.” 

“ It was not only a very natural mistake, but it is 
one which you won’t repeat,” said Mrs. Lawton. 
“ There are some things in life that one learns once 
for all. No matter how many strange worlds you 
enter after this, you will not form judgments about 
them before knowing them, nor generalize widely 
from particular instances.” 

“ I generalized a little too widely, that is all,” said 
Irma. I have not the least reason to change my 
opinion of the world as a whole. I only forgot to 
provide for the possible exceptions. So I am served 
better than I deserve in finding — or should I say 
making? — a friend like yourself so soon.” 

“ Frankly, I think it was as much finding as mak- 
ing,” the other answered, with her exquisite smile, — 
a smile which converted a plain face into a fascinating 
if not a beautiful one. “ I was so much interested in 
you, even before I saw you, that I was more than 
ready to be your friend if you would allow me. I 
told Mr. Hastings so.” 

“ Ah I ” cried Irma, quickly. “ Then that is what 
he meant when he said there were friends waiting 
to welcome me, and I — I was odiously ungracious 
and rude in my reply.” 

“ I can’t believe that.” 


235 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ It is true, nevertheless. I said there might be possi- 
ble acquaintances awaiting me, but I did not believe 
there were any friends. Was not that ungracious?” 

“ It was not very encouraging, certainly, to Mr. 
Hastings. But since you were not at that time aware 
of my existence, you could not have meant to snub 
7ney so I have no difficulty in overlooking it.” 

“ It was ungracious and rude and very presumptu- 
ous,” said Irma, with an air of severely rebuking a 
culprit. “ Mr. Hastings was very good to offer his 
own friendship after such a remark?” 

‘‘Very good indeed,” said Mrs. Lawton, with an 
expression of amusement. “ But, like myself, he had 
determined to be your friend, and therefore snubbing 
had no effect on him. I can’t understand, however, 
why you should have made up your mind so sternly 
against possible friendships.” 

“Can’t you?” said the girl; and she seemed to 
shrink from some recollection as from a physical pain. 
“ Then I ought to tell you, in order that you may un- 
derstand, that you may not think me narrow-minded 
and prejudiced as well as foolish.” 

“ My dear, I could not possibly think you any of 
those things.” 

“ If I had talked in that way without knowing, I 
should have been all of those things. But you see I 
did know — at least I thought I did. For five months 
I had been forced to meet and in a degree to associate 
with people with whom I had not a single thought, 
experience, or taste in common.” 

Mrs. Lawton had a quick thought of Mrs. Treherne 
and her associates. She took one of the small hands 
near her. 


236 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


I understand perfectly,” she said. Do you think 
I don’t know what those five months must have been 
to you ? Poor child ! And even in Paris had you no 
friends of your own ? ” 

Oh, yes. Although Camilla — that is my cousin 
— was obliged to go away in order to make her 
d^buty a few of my father’s old friends came to see me 
now and then, but they almost seemed like strangers, 
and I am sure I was like a stranger to them in the 
atmosphere in which they found me. They were con- 
strained, and talked platitudes, and I was cold and in- 
different — grief makes one so, you know — and then 
they hurried away, and soon we went away too, — to 
Switzerland. I was glad to go anywhere away from 
Paris.” 

Mrs. Lawton stroked gently the hand she held, and 
said, Poor child ! ” again. After a moment Irma 
went on : 

Is n’t it wonderful what different worlds can exist 
in the same place, never touching, knowing no more 
of each other than if they were in separate planets? 
When I went out I saw the familiar streets and build- 
ings, and I knew that I was in Paris, but the very 
familiarity of these things made the strangeness of 
everything else greater. Do you suppose that if I 
were suddenly transported to — China — let us say, I 
could ever again feel such a difference of environment, 
of thoughts, standards, objects in life, as I found when 
I left my father’s world for what is called the Ameri- 
can colony in Paris? ” 

” I don’t really believe that you could,” said Mrs. 
Lawton. I think I appreciate how deep the differ- 
ences were.” 


237 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


** Oh ! ” — The interjection signified inexpressible 
things, — “deeper than you can imagine, for to 
imagine rightly you would have to know more than 
you possibly can of the world I left. It was some- 
thing like what was put before Clovis, to burn what 
he had adored and to adore what he had burned. 
There was just such a botileversement oi standards and 
ideas placed before me, only I was not, like Clovis, 
bound to adopt it. Think for a moment of only one 
difference, — the greatest, perhaps. All my life I had 
heard money held in contempt ; I had heard my father 
say that nothing was so degrading as the love of 
money, nothing so dwarfing to character as work 
solely directed to the accumulation of money, and 
nothing so hopeless as making money a standard of 
value for anything. Neither he nor his friends ever 
did so. Most sincerely, most honestly, they held 
mercenary objects in scorn. Fancy, then, what I felt 
when I found myself in a world which simply bowed 
down and worshipped wealth, where everybody was 
valued by the amount of money which he or she pos- 
sessed, where everything was rated according to the 
same standard, where the clink of gold seemed to be 
sounding in one’s ears all the time, where each per- 
son was trying to outshine the others in display, and 
where one felt as if one wanted to cast away every- 
thing and put on sackcloth, as a protest against such 
rampant, overwhelming worldliness, such mercenary 
ideals.” 

“ Ah ! ” murmured Mrs. Lawton. It was softly 
uttered, a comment to herself on the revelation of 
character which this outburst contained. “Yes,” she 
assented, “I fancy you were quite ready to put on 
23S 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

the sackcloth, and give away your fortune to the first 
comer. But it won’t do, my dear, we can’t allow 
anything of the kind. You must keep the fortune 
and show the world, as a few others have done be- 
fore, how wealth can be made to serve noble uses. I 
grant that this is a lesson a plutocracy is slow to 
learn. One has often occasion to remember the noble 
saying of De Maistre that ‘ the chief use of an aristoc- 
racy is to preserve in a state the presence of some- 
thing more precious than gold.’” 

How often I have heard my father quote that, 
and say that a state in which nothing was held more 
precious than gold was doomed to ruin by the cor- 
ruption of its worship of wealth.” 

Your father was evidently a wise man, and it is 
for you to point the lesson of his teachings. I am 
sure that you will do so, and that you will not again 
make the mistake of thinking that there are no ex- 
ceptions to certain general rules.” 

“ If I ever thought so, I have learned the contrary 
in a manner I am not likely to forget. I came here, 
full of prejudice against every one I was likely to 
meet, and already I have found three — four friends: 
first yourself, for whom I am deeply grateful; then 
Father Thorne, and Mrs. Royal Smith — ” 

“ I am glad you include her. I have always thought 
that she could be truthfully defined as a woman of 
the world who is not a worldly woman. The differ- 
ence is vast.” 

I can never forget her kindness to me, nor the 
manner in which she spoke of my dear father. And 
then — Mr. Hastings.” 

There was a short silence. The fire filled it 

239 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


with the soft sounds of its flames playing about the 
dry logs on the great, glistening brass andirons. 
Presently Mrs. Lawton spoke in a tone of reflection : 

“ So you like Gerard Hastings ! Many people 
would think that strange, but I don’t. I have always 
known there was a side to his character which he 
does not show the world, and it is that side, no doubt, 
which he has shown you.” 

“ Don’t you think that most of us have more than 
one side, and that unconsciously we show that which 
will prove most agreeable to those whom we meet?” 
Irma asked. “It isn’t insincerity — I think people 
are sometimes accused of being insincere when they 
really are not so — it is rather a natural instinct. And 
character is often so complex. Now Mr. Hastings 
— Mrs. Treherne says that he cares only for his own 
pleasure and interest, for what is called social success, 
and for fascinating women, with no other end than 
the gratification of his own vanity.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Treherne — ” Clare suddenly paused. 
Should she give this girl a hint of the reason why 
Eleanor Treherne’s opinion of Gerard Hastings was 
particularly open to doubt? A moment’s reflection 
decided her not to do .so. One less quick of percep- 
tion than herself might have perceived elements of 
danger in the situation with which it was not wise to 
interfere. “ Mrs. Treherne,” she went on, “ is one of 
those people who read every character in the light 
of their own. I should be as slow to accept her 
opinion of any one else as I should be sorry to be 
judged by it myself.” 

Irma smiled. At that instant she recalled some 
words of Mrs. Treherne about the speaker. “ Mrs. 

240 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Lawton ! ” she had said. “ Oh yes, it is quite the 
fashion to admire her inconsolable devotion to the 
memory of her husband, but in my opinion it is all 
simply a pose. If it were genuine, she would not 
care so much for the admiration of other men, and 
she would not let Harry Rapier devote himself to her 
as he does. Can’t prevent that, perhaps? Bah ! A 
woman never has any trouble in preventing anything 
of the kind, if she wishes to do so. But women like 
Clare Lawton don't wish to prevent it. They enjoy 
the incense, while affecting to be indifferent to it.” 
Truly Mrs. Treherne, like many of us, did indeed 
read every character in the light of her own.” 

If I accepted that opinion of Mr. Hastings,” Irma 
said quietly, “ I certainly should not include him in 
my list of friends. But I don’t accept it. In some 
degree, no doubt, it is true ; but there are other things 
in his character, and it is by those other things that I 
prefer to judge him.” 

“ And you are right,” said Mrs. Lawton, warmly. 
There are some very good and very unusual things 
in his character, although he does not show them to 
everybody, nor even to many people. But I have 
known him a long time, and — well, 

‘ God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures 
Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with. 

One to show a woman — ’ 

Dear me, Mr. Hastings ! What do you mean by 
startling people by stealing upon them like this? ” 

“ A thousand pardons ! ” said Hastings, as he came 
forward into the circle of firelight. “But I must make 
Ellis share the blame of my startling you. When he 
admitted me he whispered with a confidential air that 
i6 241 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


I would find the ladies in the library. I could not 
resist taking advantage of the tip, but I apologize if I 
have interrupted any secrets.” 

“Women never talk secrets except with their 
back-hair down, at the hour of bedtime and in the 
strict seclusion of their chambers,” said Mrs. Lawton. 
“ We were discussing character, its complexities and 
contradictions, and I was quoting Browning about 
the ‘ two-soul sides ’ which every man possesses.” 

— One to face the world with, 

One to show a woman when he loves her,’ ” 

Hastings quoted. “ That sounds very well, but its 
application has earned for many a man the charge of 
insincerity.” 

“I was just saying,” Irma remarked, “that any 
character with many sides to it is open to that charge 
— which is often undeserved.” 

“ Often very much undeserved,” Hastings said with 
some energy. “ I know how it is with myself. Peo- 
ple affect me so differently that I am, for all practical 
purposes, a different person with A. to what I am 
with B. Yet when on some occasion A. and B. com- 
pare impressions of my character, one or the other, 
or perhaps both, are likely to think that I am exceed- 
ingly insincere.” 

“ When they ought to understand that you are a 
mental chameleon, taking color from the person you 
come in contact with,” laughed Mrs. Lawton. “ I 
am afraid that excuse will not serve with those who 
know you best. We’ll grant the two soul-sides, but 
apart from that I have never known any one less 
chameleon-like than yourself.” 

242 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ Which only goes to prove how little one’s best 
friends know one,” he returned. And besides, your 
comparison is incorrect. One does not take one’s 
color from other people, like the chameleon, — which 
I have always thought a very contemptible, time- 
serving animal, — but one simply shows that side or 
phase of one’s character which is sympathetic to the 
person with whom one chances to be associated.” 

Mrs. Lawton lifted her hands. 

“ That I should hear you advancing a claim to be 
sympathetic ! You will be stating next that you are 
impulsive and enthusiastic.” 

“ I could never have believed that you would be so 
incredulous of my good qualities,” said he, reproach- 
fully. “ I appeal to Miss Darracote. She shall say 
whether or not I am sympathetic.” 

‘‘ She shall say nothing of the kind,” interposed 
Mrs. Lawton, before Irma could speak. “ Her tes- 
timony cannot be received, for she came here so 
deeply prejudiced against us that in the course of 
a natural reaction she is now prepared to exaggerate 
any crumbs of sympathy we have offered her.” 

“ I consider it a very unfair use of confidence to 
turn it against one like this ! ” Irma said, almost as 
reproachfully as Hastings. “I did not come here 
‘ deeply prejudiced.’ I simply did not expect to find 
all that I have found in the way of friendship 
and sympathy — although if I talk much more of 
sympathy you will begin to think me une femme 
incornprisey 

Never ! ” said Mrs. Lawton, “ you are as far from 
that type as possible. “But,” she added, rising, “I 
must leave you and Mr. Hastings to settle how much 
243 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


his claim to be sympathetic is founded on reality, for 
it is at least an hour since I was told that my carriage 
was waiting, and my coachman wilLbe a picture of 
dignified protest when I go out. I rather dread 
facing him, but the longer I wait the worse it will be ; 
so good-bye, and don’t forget that you have promised 
to lunch with me day after to-morrow. Mr. Hastings, 
it is n’t in the least necessary for you to come out 
with me, but I suppose it is useless to say so.” 

“ Quite useless,” Hastings replied with a smile, and 
they went out together. When they reached the hall 
door, however, it appeared that the coachman was 
putting his protest into action by walking his horses 
around the great sweeping circle of the drive, and if 
from afar he saw the figure of his mistress he proba- 
bly thought that a slight taste of the pleasure of wait- 
ing would be beneficial to her, for he did not quicken 
his pace, and there was time for a few more words 
between the two standing on the great stone steps. 

“ As far as possible from une femme incomprisef 
Mrs. Lawton repeated, recalling Irma’s words, “ but 
there are some things worse than that — for herself. 
The real femme incomprise enjoys the belief that she 
is misunderstood and unappreciated, which is very 
different from starting out in life with a number 
of fine and lofty ideals and having them all smashed 
before one’s eyes when they encounter reality.” 

Hastings looked thoughtful. 

‘‘ I don’t see the absolute necessity for the smash- 
ing,” he said. “ We must acknowledge that this is a 
bad world for ideals, but there are a few people who 
manage to carry them unbroken to the end of their 
lives,” 


244 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Yes,’* Clare assented. “ If they are preserved 
carefully in pink cotton-wool and only brought out 
occasionally to be inspected and admired, they may 
be kept unbroken. But any attempt to use them is 
fatal.” 

“ I am shocked and astonished to find you so 
cynical, and I may add so inconsistent, for you dare 
not deny that you are guilty of having a few ideals 
yourself.” 

“And don’t I keep them in cotton-wool, under 
lock and key? You can’t imagine that I would be 
so foolish as to bring them out for practical use. 
What I am afraid of is that Irma will really attempt 
to use hers. And in that case we shall have tragedy.” 

“ You are a pessimist as well as a cynic, it seems. 
Why should there be more tragedy in her case than 
in that of other idealists who find it rather difficult 
to square ideals with realities? ” 

“ If you ask that question seriously, you are duller 
than I fancied, but I don’t believe that you do ask it 
seriously. You know that the reason why there will 
be more tragedy in her case is because she takes 
these things sincerely. With many people idealism 
is simply an affectation ; with others it is something 
to be cherished as a beautiful dream, without ever 
expecting to see it realized. But she will expect to 
realize hers, and when she fails, as we know that she 
must fail — ” 

“ Again let me say that I do not see the necessity. 
Ideals are sometimes realized, whether cynics like 
yourself believe it or not. You remind me of Mrs. 
Royal Smith, who regards Miss Darracote in the 
most tragic manner, and has solemnly warned me 

245 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


away from her, as a possible agent of disillusion and 
misery.” 

Mrs. Lawton laughed. 

How like Mrs. Royal Smith ! ” she said. I 
don’t think so badly of you as that, but there are 
dangers — ” She sighed. '‘Ah, heaven! in what 
are there not dangers in this world of inconceivable 
disappointment, disillusion, and pain I But some of 
these dangers may be avoided, and if a man has un- 
consciously perhaps showed only his best side to a 
person of such a nature as this of which we are talk- 
ing, he should be careful — ” 

“ Not to inflict a shock by any revelation of his 
worse side,” said Hastings a little dryly, as she 
paused, while the carriage drew up. “We are, I 
think, quite agreed on that point. And let me say 
how glad I am that Miss Darracote has found in 
yourself a friend from whom she need never fear 
such revelations.” 

It was very much a repetition of this speech which 
Hastings made when he returned to the library, 
where Irma sat alone in the .fire-glow, with its flush 
on her cheeks and a light, not from it, in her eyes. 

“ I am delighted that you have made a friend of 
Mrs. Lawton,” he said. “ I thought that you would 
find her thoroughly sympathetic.” 

“I am beginning to be rather ashamed of my 
demands for sympathy,” Irma answered with a 
smile. “ Especially since I have found so much more 
than I deserve, as I was telling Mrs. Lawton just 
before you came in.” 

“ And I am sure that Mrs. Lawton replied that you 
could not possibly find more than you deserve.” 

246 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ She was very far from being so flattering, and I 
should not have believed her if she had been. She 
understood that I meant it was more than I deserved 
for having been so incredulous of finding any.” 

No one who knew what your associations had 
been could possibly have blamed you for such in- 
credulity. But I felt sure that you would find your- 
self mistaken, and I had Mrs. Lawton chiefly in my 
mind in that belief. After her, at a long interval, 
came myself, of whom I hoped you might also make 
a friend.” 

“ It was very good of you to hope it, since I was so 
— discouraging.” 

Oh, I am not easily discouraged. I may not say, 
like Philip of Spain, ‘Time and I against any two,’ 
but I generally find that with the aid of time I carry 
most points which I really care to carry. And I was 
incited to persevere here, not only by your scorn — ” 

“ I was not scornful, only incredulous.” 

“ Well, despite your incredulity, then, of any pos- 
sible good thing in the form of a friend being found 
in a society which worshipped Mammon and lived 
only for amusement — you see I clearly remember 
the indictment ! — I determined to persevere and 
win your friendship, not only because I felt that it 
was very well worth having, but also because I had 
promised Mr. Darracote to do so.” 

She gave a quick glance of interest. 

“ Is it possible that Mr. Darracote spoke to you of 
me ? I fancied that he hardly knew of my existence.” 

“ He not only knew of your existence, but he built 
many hopes on you.” 

“Did he?” She leaned forward eagerly. “Tell 
247 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


me what they were. I have often thought that if I 
knew of any wishes of his it would give me so much 
pleasure to fulfil them.” 

“ There is one of them which is, I believe, in process 
of fulfilment. He was, as I have told you, very 
anxious that my friendly relations with the house of 
Darracote should continue.” 

“The house of Darracote, speaking through its 
only representative at present,” said the girl, sweetly, 
“ desires the same thing. But what else did he 
wish? ” 

Hastings looked at her with a smile. “ Some 
day,” he said, “I hope to have the pleasure of telling 
you all his wishes in detail, but just now I must con- 
tent myself with the assurance that I believe you are 
in yourself all that he would have desired.” 

“ That is more complimentary than satisfactory,” 
she answered with heightened color. But she did 
not press her question further, for an instinct — or 
was it something in the eyes so steadfastly regarding 
her? — warned her not to do so. Instead, she w’ent 
on quickly in a different tone : 

“ I think — or at least I hope — that he would 
have wished me to provide for any of his old em- 
ployes who need assistance ; so I am reminded to ask 
if you have found oiit anything about the old man — 
Peter Wilkins, isn’t it? — whom I met the other 
day.” 

“ I have found out all that there is to know about 
him. He is in sufficiently good circumstances, and 
has no need of a pension. That, I believe, is what 
you wanted to be assured.” 

Irma looked distinctly disappointed. 

248 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ I am afraid,”- she answered, “ that I wanted to be 
assured that I had found somebody whom it was 
right to help with some of my superfluous money. 
Well, at all events, I can have the child here and 
brighten her life a little.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Hastings, with some hesitation, 
“ that I must advise against that also. There are, I 
have found, reasons why it is not prudent for you to 
have anything to do with Wilkins or his — grand- 
child.” 

Irma gazed at him with astonishment. 

‘‘How mysterious you are!” she said. “What 
possible reason can there be why I should not be 
kind to a poor little child, even if I must not offer a 
pension to the old man ? ” 

“ It does seem odd that there should be a reason,” 
Hastings admitted. “ But you have just said that 
you are kind enough to regard me as a friend, so you 
will let me remind you that confidence is an essential 
part of friendship. As a friend, I ask you to trust me 
in this matter — to believe that such a reason exists.” 

“ A reason which you cannot tell me? ” 

“ A reason which I would rather not tell you at 
present. Of course, if you insist, I must; but I hope 
you will not insist. See now 1 ” — and there was a 
tone of great earnestness in his voice — “ let us 
make this what lawyers call ‘ a test case.’ If you 
really consider me a friend, you will believe me when 
I say that there is a reason why it is better that you 
should not have any communication with this man or 
child. It is n’t a matter of great importance, but it 
is a test. Words amount to little, but actions are 
everything. Therefore — will you trust me? ” 

249 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


There was a brief silence. Then the girl answered 
quietly, perhaps a little proudly : 

“ Whatever I promise I fulfil. Friendship certainly 
includes confidence ; so I trust you.” 

Friendship, we know, is an old mask for Love. 
But he would have been dull who did not hear now 
the soft and delicate stirring of the wings of Eros. 


X 

T hat Mrs. Treheme held no place in the short 
list of friends whom Irma counted over would not 
have surprised that lady in the least. She had been 
clearly aware, from the first hour of their meeting, that 
there was no possibility of sympathy between herself 
and this girl who regarded her ideals of life with won- 
dering scorn, and whose own ideals (as far as she 
comprehended them) she regarded with ridicule and 
dislike. The only ground on which they could meet 
was that of mutual toleration, and since each was in 
a degree necessary to the other, they both perceived 
and [in their different ways acted upon this under- 
standing. Each was scrupulously courteous to the 
other, and on Irma’s side there was also a charming 
deference of manner .and tone which pleased and 
sometimes even touched Mrs. Treherne, who knew 
how different the manner of many an heiress was 
toward her (paid) chaperon. To herself she could 
not but acknowledge the girl was exquisite — of the 
finest fibre within and without — a gentlewoman in 
every instinct, with a fine and delicate sense not only 
of that which was right but of that which was most 
250 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


noble in conduct, and a grace of bearing and speech 
such as seldom flowers on any stem save that of one 
of the Latin races. 

And surely never was heiress less trouble to her 
chaperon. Indeed, since her deep mourning prevented 
her entrance into society except to a very limited 
extent, and Mrs. Treherne was speedily absorbed in 
a constant round of social gayeties, they lived as sepa- 
rate lives as was compatible with existence under the 
same roof. Separate as they were, however, Mrs. 
Treherne did not fail to keep herself thoroughly 
informed with regard to the increasing intimacy 
between Miss Darracote and Mr. Hastings. It was 
what she had foreseen, foretold, and even desired, 
but nevertheless the knowledge of it filled her with 
a sense of anger the greater because denied all ex- 
pression. Not even the belief that she held a certain 
power over this man — a power which was to be ex- 
ercised for his injury and humiliation — was able to 
relieve the exasperation with which she recognized 
the fact that in this intimacy he was yielding as much 
to the charm of the woman as to the powerful attrac- 
tion of her fortune. 

As time went on, too, she became impatient. Why 
did he not speak? — why did he not act? — and why 
did he not take what plainly was ready to drop into 
his hand? She was feverishly anxious to have the 
matter finally settled, for no one save herself knew or 
could imagine what a perilous game she was playing. 
Peter Wilkins was quiet and gave no sign — her own 
success in that regard was so complete that it almost 
frightened her — but it was impossible to tell how 
long he would remain quiet. And if he did not, then 

251 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

the high stakes for which she was playing, for which 
she had sacrificed whatever conscience remained to 
her, might, after all, be lost. Her impatience at 
Hastings’ delay was therefore extreme, but she knew 
that to express it to him would only be to court a 
rebuff which he would take pleasure in making as 
stinging as possible. 

And it was while this suspense was at its height 
that she heard the unwelcome news that Camilla’s 
arrival was immediately expected. Although they 
had met only once or twice, she had recognized a 
possible antagonist — perhaps a possible enemy — 
in this girl, and there could have been nothing less 
agreeable to her than the entrance of an influence so 
formidable and almost certain to be opposed to her 
own, into Irma’s life just at this time. Her vexation 
indeed was so great that she was unable to control its 
outward expression. 

“ I am sorry that Miss Vincent is really coming,” 
she said, when Irma, opening a letter one morning at 
breakfast, announced in a joyful tone that Camilla 
might be looked for in a few days. I hoped, for 
your sake, that her operatic engagements would pre- 
vent her crossing the ocean.” 

Irma glanced up with an expression of surprise 
and something more than surprise, — the first trace of 
hauteur that Mrs. Treherne had ever seen on her face. 

‘T don’t think that I understand you,” she said. 

** What I mean would be easily understood by any 
one with the least knowledge of the world,” Mrs. 
Treherne replied, too irritated to be prudent. “ It is 
simply that it would be wise to leave Bohemian asso- 
ciations in Bohemia.” 


252 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ Do you know that you are speaking of my 
cousin?” Irma asked, and something in her tone 
now sounded a note of warning. 

“ Unless I am mistaken, you told me once that the 
relationship is very remote,” tlie other answered, 
“ but even if it were nearer I should feel it my duty 
to say the same thing. Although you have the 
Darracote millions, your personal place in society 
is yet to be taken, and now, at the beginning, it is so 
easy to make a mistake which might be very serious.” 

I am dull, I suppose,” said Irma, “ but I fail to 
see what connection there is between my cousin’s 
visit and my place in society.” 

Mrs. Treherne found herself provoked to very 
plain speaking. 

“ Then I must tell you,” she said, that there has 
been much exaggerated gossip about your Bohemian 
antecedents and — er — foreign relatives. The ap- 
pearance of this girl — an Italian opera-singer — will 
seem to justify it, and will prove a great social draw- 
back to you.” 

‘‘ I am sure that you do your world injustice,” said 
Irma, quietly. I have learned enough of it to be 
confident that so long as I possess the millions you 
have mentioned, I cannot possibly do anything which 
would deprive me of its favor, — not even if I intro- 
duced an Italian organ-grinder, with his monkey, as 
my cousin.” 

“ Of course it is easy to be scornful and sarcastic,” 
said Mrs. Treherne, flushing angrily, “ but that does 
not alter the fact that Miss Vincent’s appearance here 
will certainly do you an injury.” 

*‘Miss Vincent,” said Irma, “ is not only of as good 

253 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

blood as myself, but in Europe her brilliant artistic 
success would open 3.11 doors to her. Xhst this is not 
the case here is neither a matter of surprise nor of the 
least concern to me.” 

She rose from the table as she spoke; but Mrs. 
Treherne, recognizing that she had for once gone 
too far, hastened to apologize. 

“ You must remember,” she said, “ that I fill a 
position of great responsibility towards you, and I 
should feel that I had neglected a positive duty if I 
failed to tell you how things are regarded in a so- 
ciety with which you are not familiar. The way in 
which it regards actresses and singers may be a little 
narrow-minded, — personally, I have no doubt they 
are delightful people and not always lax in their 
morals, — but, as I often remind you, we must take 
things as they are, and not as one would like to find 
them. And I am so deeply interested in your social 
prospects, so anxious that you shall make the very 
best position for yourself, that I cannot bear for you 
to do anything which may endanger it.” 

“You are very kind,” said Irma, coldly, “but 
since you have fulfilled the duty which appears to 
you so imperative, and since I have assured you 
that nothing could be of less importance to me than 
the opinion of the society of which you talk, I think 
we will drop the subject.” 

“ As you like,” said Mrs. Treherne. 

And so, in diplomatic language, the incident was 
closed. The slight passage at arms seemed a trifle, 
but it was the first of several such trifles to assure the 
elder woman that she had been right in suspecting 
that under all her gentleness and docility Irma pos- 

254 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


sessed both fire and a will with which it would not 
be safe to try conclusions. 

And so, when a little later Camilla arrived, Mrs. 
Treherne was ready to give her a very suave and out- 
wardly cordial welcome. There was, in ordinary 
phrase, no love lost between these two, who had al- 
ready met and gauged each other with some degree 
of thoroughness and accuracy; but both perceived 
the necessity of veiling their distrust and dislike as 
long as they were together under Irma’s roof. In 
fact, Camilla was too much overwhelmed by the 
proofs of the greatness of her cousin’s inheritance to 
have much thought to spare for Mrs. Treherne. 

“ But it is wonderful ! ” she cried. “ It is like a 
fairy-tale ! I had no idea that you were so great a 
lady, Irma miay 

“Am I a great lady?” Irma returned. “ I assure 
you I do not feel myself one. But I agree with you 
that it is all very much like a fairy-tale ; and your 
part in it not least so.” 

“ Oh, my part in it was always to have been ex- 
pected ! ” said Camilla, with superb self-confidence. 
“ I always knew I should succeed. There was never 
the least doubt in my mind of that. But you^ who 
were brought up to scorn money, — how strange to 
see you mistress of this beautiful place, with a great 
fortune behind it ! ” 

“ You are mistaken,” answered Irma, quickly. “ I 
was not brought up to scorn money, but only the 
love of it, which is a very different thing. My father 
always said that money was a great power for good ; 
but that so few people used the power well, so few 
25s 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

did not become selfish, worldly, and pleasure-seeking, 
that it was better not to be tempted by it.” 

And, now that you have it, do you find this true 
are you becoming selfish, worldly, and pleasure- 
seeking?” 

“ You know we are not aware of changes in our- 
selves until some test comes to show them to us. 
The love of all this luxury and power may be growing 
in me. How can I tell? ” 

“/ can tell!” said Camilla, with a laugh. ‘^You 
are exactly what you always were, — full of ideals too 
high entirely for this sordid world. Now, I have no 
ideals at all. I am practical and worldly and merce- 
nary, too. Ask the impresarios whether or not I can 
make a hard bargain; and I promise you that as I 
grow more famous my bargains will be harder still. 

I always said I should make a typical prima-donna in 
that respect.” 

It was now Irma’s turn to laugh. 

I know,” she said, “ that you always took pleasure 
in painting yourself in as dark colors as possible ; but 
we knew what to think of that, — papa and I. ‘ It is 
a heart of gold that she has, the little Camilla,’ he 
used to say; and he made no mistakes.” 

“ Except in judging too kindly,” said Camilla, 
shaking her head in protest. 

It was the day after the arrival of the young singer 
at Argyle, and the two cousins had just made an 
exhaustive inspection of the house, ending with the 
drawing-room, where Camilla had thrown herself into 
a luxurious chair, with the cry that it was all like a 
fairy-tale.” 

Yet, as Irma reminded her, there had been a trans- 
256 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

formation hardly less great in her own life ; and the 
stamp of it was set upon her, as the stamp of success 
always is. Self-assured as the Camilla of the past 
had been, the Camilla of the present was more self- 
assured still, — a radiant, confident creature, whom 
to see was to recognize as a person of importance. 
With her charming prettiness set off by the most 
elegant attire, she was a very brilliant butterfly 
indeed, fully emerged at last from the chrysalis of her 
Bohemian obscurity. In the pause which followed 
her remark, she glanced around the room with bright, 
inquisitive eyes, and suddenly caught the white grace 
of the Psyche in its recess. 

Ah ! ” she cried, springing up, and moving toward 
it. Here is something familiar, — a bit of the old 
life ! How it recalls everything ! And how beautiful 
it is, and how like you ! ” 

Irma, who followed, stood in her black gown by the 
side of the graceful figure, regarding it a little sadly. 

“ Beautiful, yes,” she said. “ But like me — I can- 
not see how it is possible to think so. That is an 
incarnation of joyousness, while I — ” 

“ Will also be an incarnation of joyousness again — 
and soon, I hope ! ” Camilla exclaimed, throwing an 
arm impulsively around her. “ For, after all, it is 
dreadful ingratitude not to be happy with this 
wonderful fortune.” 

How can the fortune possibly make me happy?” 
Irma asked. “ It has given me nothing that I value. 
And I am lonely, Camilla, — very lonely.” 

Carissima ! I am sure that you are,” the other 
murmured sympathetically. ‘‘Who could be other- 
wise with only Mrs. Treherne for a companion ! ” 

17 257 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ If I had you,” Irma went on ; if you would give 
up the stage and live with me, I think we might be 
very happy together. This is what has been in my 
mind for a long time, and I have only waited for you 
to come to propose it.” 

“ Give up the stage ! ” repeated Camilla. The sug- 
gestion seemed to strike her like a blow. She drew 
back, looking at her cousin with an almost ludicrous 
expression of dismay. “ But I am just at the begin- 
ning,” she said. “And it is all before me — fame, 
fortune, triumph. Think how I have worked for it, 
and waited and hoped, and now — to give it up 7iow ! 
O Irma, ask me anything else ! ” 

“ But if I assure you all the fortune that you could 
possibly gain,” said Irma, eagerly ; “ and I can do 
so, for it seems I am very rich, — would you not 
rather take it from me than to continue singing before 
the public, bargaining with impresarios — ” 

“ But the triumph ! ” Camilla cried. “ One hour 
of success pays for all. It is better than being a 
queen to feel that one has the power to set a whole 
audience wild with enthusiasm, to see them rise up 
and overwhelm one with applause. Oh ! you forget 
that — you know nothing of that — or you could not 
ask me to give it up.”, 

“ Could I not? ” said Irma. As dismay had struck 
the other, so a keen sense of disappointment now 
struck her. She had been building a castle in the 
air, in which she had seen Camilla and herself shar- 
ing as sisters the inheritance which had come to her, 
enjoying together all that it would give: Camilla 
relieved of all need to follow a laborious profession ; 
herself relieved of loneliness, and happily assured of 
258 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


being able to help with her wealth one whom she 
loved. It had been a dream on which she had dwelt 
with intense pleasure and witl;, little doubt of its 
practical realization. Yet now in a moment she saw 
that it was not to be realized. Camilla had tasted 
triumph, and that triumph was more to her than any- 
thing she, Irma, could offer. Also, while she had 
need of Camilla, Camilla had no need of her, — neither 
of her wealth nor her companionship. The singer, in 
the first flush of success, with the world, by antici- 
pation at least, at her feet, knew nothing of the loneli- 
ness which saddened the heiress’ life. To her life 
opened an intoxicating vista of applause, homage, 
excitement, which left no room for any need of sym- 
pathy or affection. All this was suddenly borne in 
upon Irma with the force of an intuition, showing her 
how baseless was the dream with which she had 
pleased herself. 

“Then I will not ask it,” she said. '‘I had no 
thought of demanding any sacrifice — ” 

“ Oh, I am sure you had not ! ” Camilla interposed. 
“ You did not understand what her career is to an 
artist, that is all. It was your generosity, your 
desire to share your fairy fortune with me, which 
made you think of such a thing. And of course, if 
all this had happened a year ago, she continued, 
with admirable candor, “ your proposal would have 
worn a different face ; for then nothing was certain. 
I had not made my debut, and I might have been 
glad to give up professional ambition and devote my- 
self to social existence. But now — well, you can 
perhaps understand that now, with all that is before 
me, it would be a poor exchange.” 

259 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“Then certainly I will not ask it,” Irma repeated, 
this time with emphasis. As she spoke, the memory 
of her father’s sayings with regard to the effect of 
worldly success passed through her mind, coupled 
with a question whether success had changed Camilla, 
or whether it had merely proved the touchstone to 
show what she had always been. Her eyes, filled 
with this reflection, dwelt on her cousin with an in- 
tentness which made Camilla slightly uncomfortable. 

“ You are thinking how mercenary and selfish / 
have become,” she said. “ I am sure of it. But 
please remember that I never pretended to be any- 
thing else. Only a moment ago I told you what I 
am, and you refused to believe me. Now here is the 
proof. You offer me ease, comfort, plenty of money, 
and your companionship ; and I tell you that I prefer 
— that I must have — admiration, excitement, ap- 
plause, the consciousness of power, and the money 
that will come to me with triumph written on every 
piece.” 

“I suppose it is natural,” said Irma. “But I am 
disappointed, because I have been making many 
plans for our life together. And I am sorry. I can- 
not help that; for all you say makes me realize 
afresh how entirely alone I am in the world, necessary 
to no one and of use to no one.” 

“ Nonsense 1” cried Camilla, sharply. “You are 
necessary to every one who loves you, and you will 
be of use to legions. I wish I were as sure of being 
the greatest singer of the age as I am of that. And 
as for loneliness — O Irma, Irma, you are not a 
child ! You know that, with your attractions, you 
will have suitors in multitudes ; you will choose one 
260 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


of them, and there will be no more loneliness and no 
more need of Camilla in your life. Psyche will 
waken, and then — ah, then you will be as happy as 
you deserve ! ” 

You talk of what you don’t understand,” said 
Irma, turning away. 

Camilla threw out her hands. 

Who should understand if not I? ” she protested. 
“ The suitors will surely come, and you cannot be 
adamant to all of them as you were to poor Mr. Nor- 
bert in the old days in Paris. By the way, did I tell 
you that he came over on the same ship with me? 
How glad he was to see me ! And how he talked, 
talked, talked all the way on one subject ! ” 

“Is he here — in America, I mean?” Irma asked, 
in a slightly startled tone. 

“ Not only in America, but in this city, at your 
door,” Camilla replied. “ He told me that there 
were some of his paintings on exhibition here, and it 
seems they have been very highly praised. He, too, 
has been achieving success in a moderate degree, 
and plainly hopes that if he can become famous he 
may even venture to approach such an exalted prin- 
cess as yourself.” 

“ Why do you talk so absurdly? ” Irma asked, half 
angrily. “ Whoever thinks that I could be changed 
in any respect to any one, but especially to my 
old friends, by the accident of inheriting some money, 
either thinks that I have a very vulgar soul or has 
one himself.” 

“ Mr. Norbert may be acquitted of the vulgar 
soul,” said Camilla; “ for I am sure he does not fear 
that you are changed. But he knows the world well 
261 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

enough to be aware that your position has very 
much changed, while his remains depressingly the 
same. A struggling painter, with only his palette 
and brushes for his fortune, would not be considered 
a very suitable alliance for a great heiress.’' 

It would not weigh with me for an instant, the 
thought of what would be considered suitable,” said 
Irma, proudly. Nor yet the fact that he had only 
his palette and brushes for his fortune, if — if I cared 
for him as he wished that I should.” 

“ No one who knows you could doubt that,” said 
Camilla. '‘But he understands that if you did not 
care for him as he wished in the old days, you are 
hardly likely to do so now, when circumstances are 
so much changed. He was even doubtful whether 
or not he could venture to claim your acquaintance, 
but I assured him that he need not hesitate to do so.” 

“ It seems,” said Irma, in a deeply wounded tone, 
“ that money must indeed have great power in chang- 
ing people, since even my friends are themselves so 
much affected by it that they imagine I must be also. 
I could not have believed it. I am sure that I could 
never think that any one whom I know and like would 
be so altered by an accident of life that I could not 
approach her, — no,, not if she inherited a throne 
instead of merely a little money.” 

“ It is n’t merely a little money, you know,” 
observed Camilla, practically. “ However, the prin- 
ciple is the same. And you must allow for the 
sensitiveness of a lover. If he does n’t come, a word 
from you will bring him only too gladly.” 

“ But why should I speak a word to one who is 
capable of doing me such injustice?” Irma asked. 

262 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Then she turned toward a servant who entered at the 
moment. “ What is it, Ellis? ” 

The man presented a card. 

“The gentleman wishes to know if Miss Darracote 
is at home and will see him,” he said. 

Irma glanced at the name. 

“Show him in,” she replied; and as the servant 
left the room, she looked at Camilla with a quick, 
bright smile. “ After all,” she said, “ Mr. Norbert 
has found courage to come.” 


XI 



HE young man who entered the drawing-room a 


moment later — walking quickly, with the air 
of one who is a little nervous — was in certain particu- 
lars unlike the Norbert with whom Irma had parted in 
Paris. For one thing, that Norbert had delighted to 
affect a marked Bohemianism of manner and attire; 
whereas this Norbert was altogether conventional and 
correct in both respects. Also, on him as on Camilla, 
although in less degree, the indefinable but unmis- 
takable mark of success was set. For no great 
amount of this is necessary to change the attitude of 
the most defiant Bohemian from scorn of artistic and 
social conventions to respect and observance of the 
same. It was, therefore, the old Norbert of Parisian 
days, and yet also a new and somewhat unfamiliar 
Norbert, who entered with the quick, nervous bearing 
and a look of doubt in his eyes. 

But no degree of doubt could have withstood the 
charm of the greeting which Irma came forward to 


263 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

give him. In the change from outside brightness to 
the partial obscurity of the drawing-room, he failed 
for an instant to distinguish the figures at the farther 
end. So he was not prepared for the swift, impulsive 
approach of one of them ; the two white hands out- 
stretched, the sweet, eager, well-remembered tones 
crying : 

“ Oh, how glad I am to see you ! How kind of 
you to come at once ! We were just talking of you, 
Camilla and I. For here is Camilla, you see, and 
now we are together, — we three, — as in the dear, 
old, happy days ! ” 

It is safe to say that at this moment Norbert felt 
himself to the 'bottom of his soul a Philistine and a 
snob. For had he not hesitated to come, doubting 
the reception which might be accorded him? And 
even up to the last moment had he not said to him- 
self that if instead of the Irma whom he had known 
he found Miss Darracote the heiress, he would never 
trouble the latter again? And all the time it was this 
welcome which was awaiting him from the faithful 
heart he had so little appreciated ! 

Overcome by these thoughts, as much as by the 
welcome itself, he could only murmur a few inarticu- 
late words, as Irma led him toward Camilla, and then 
stood looking from one to the other with eyes that 
shone through a soft mist of tears. 

“ Yes, here we are ! ” observed Camilla. “ And 
let me tell you” — this to Norbert — “that it is a 
very good thing you have come at this moment; for 
I was just slandering you by saying that you hesitated 
to come.” 

“And suppose it was no slander?” said Norbert, 
264 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

regarding Irma with an expression half ashamed, 
half appealing. “ Suppose I did hesitate — thinking 
of the great change since we met last, and fearing to 
appear presumptuous? ” 

“ I can hardly believe it. I told Camilla that I 
could hardly believe it,” Irma replied. “What 
change has there been, except that I have by acci- 
dent inherited a little — or, let us say, a great deal of 
money? But what has that to do with mef I can- 
not imagine what kind of person it would be who 
could be changed by such a thing.” 

“ The difficulty is, rather, in imagining what kind 
of person would not be changed by it,” said 
Camilla, candidly. “ With most of us the change 
would be instantaneous, I fear. But we will acknowl- 
edge that you are not changed, and I am sure Mr. 
Norbert will quickly proceed to humble himself 
properly for ever having fancied it possible.” 

Norbert looked as if no degree of humbling would 
come amiss to him. 

“ I should have known better,” he said, regarding 
Irma with the same appealing air. “ But when one 
lives in the world and hears much of the value of 
external things, one forgets that there are a few 
people to whom those things do not matter. I know 
well that Mr. Darracote was such a person — ” 

“And yet you thought his daughter could be 
changed to her old friends by the possession of some 
money!” Irma interrupted, in a tone of fine scorn. 

“ But there ! we will talk no more of the subject. 
You have been demoralized, like Camilla, by too 
much worldly success; for I am delighted to hear 
that you are succeeding.” 

265 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ Not to any overwhelming or necessarily demor- 
alizing extent,” he answered. '‘But a little — yes. 
It began last year in Paris, after — after the time when 
I lost sight of you.” 

“ Tell me about it,” she said, sinking into a chair. 

“ It was, in a certain sense, an accident,” Norbert 
began, following her example, and nowise loath to 
talk on a subject so interesting to himself. “ Among 
the many Americans in Paris, there chanced to be 
one millionaire with a taste for art. He became well 
known in the studios, and one day he wandered into 
mine. Something in my work pleased him; and, 
besides buying a picture or two, he asked me to paint 
his portrait. I was reluctant to do so ; but as he was 
a good subject I finally consented, thinking that in 
any event the head would be useful to me as a study. 
Perhaps because I painted it with this end in view, I 
produced something really effective, with which he 
was delighted. He talked to all his friends of my 
power of portraying character ; and since the picture 
had a certain merit of the kind, I suddenly found 
myself the possessor of a reputation and flooded with 
orders.” 

“ And what did they think of it, in the studios?” 

“ Laughed, shrugged their shoulders, congratulated 
me, and advised me to make the most of my vogue. 
Only Monsieur Dufresne had a kind and serious word 
for me. ‘ There is nothing unworthy in what you are 
doing,’ he said. ‘You possess a remarkable faculty 
of perceiving and catching something in a face which 
eludes the ordinary portrait-painter. Your likenesses, 
from this fact rather than from any particular bril- 
liancy of treatment, are very effective, and I do not 
266 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


wonder they have struck the popular fancy. Don’t 
hesitate to go on and reap the harvest of your popu- 
larity, so long as you are not satisfied to rest content 
with this cheap success and forget the serious ends 
of art’ ” 

How like Monsieur Dufresne that sounds ! ” said 
Irma. “ He was always so kind and wise.” 

“ I followed his advice,” Norbert went on; ^‘and 
when my American patrons assured me that I had 
only to come over here and open a studio in order 
to make both reputation and money, I listened — and 
came. Some of my pictures have been for some 
time on exhibition in this city; perhaps you have 
seen or heard of them? ” 

“No,” Irma began — and then a sudden recollec- 
tion flashed upon her. “ But yes ! ” she cried. “ It 
must have been of your pictures that a friend spoke 
to me. But no name was mentioned, and I never 
guessed ; although I might have done so, for she said 
that there was a face among them which suggested 
mine.” 

Norbert flushed. 

“ I did not think that it would be recognized,” he 
said, “or else I should not have included that picture 
in the exhibition. It was a study of your head, drawn 
from memory but not intended for a poftrait.” 

“ It was not recognized as a portrait. But if it had 
been, what then ? Why should I object to your paint- 
ing my face? ” 

“ Then will you let me do so ? ” he asked eagerly. 
“ It is what I desire above all things, but I feared to 
ask it Think what an introduction for me, if my 
first sitter here is Miss Darracote ! ” 

267 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ Will it do you good ? ” she asked, all animation 
and interest. ** Xlien I ^ive you at once a commission 
for a portrait — no, two commissions ; for I want a 
portrait of Camilla also. And mind that you charge 
your highest price for both.” 

“ Don’t ask it. The mere fact that you allow me 
to paint you will be material assistance enough. My 
reward will be in the pleasure of doing it. 

“ No, no ! ” she cried. “ I will not hear of that. You 
must take me as a sitter on the same terms that you 
take every one else, or I will not sit for you at all. 
Think what a quantity of money I have! Why 
should you wish to deny me the pleasure of spending 
a little of it in this way ? I have not many friends, 
and to be able to help one of them is so great a 
happiness that you ought to be glad to give it to 
me.” 

“Yes,” said Camilla, chiming in, “you ought; and 
if you knew how very anxious she is to find some 
one on whom to spend this money which troubles 
her so much, you would be. I have no compunc- 
tion whatever about allowing her to pay for my por- 
trait, and you should have none about accepting the 
money.” 

Norbert looked at the speaker with an expression 
bordering on resentment. 

“ I think,” he said, “ that we regard the matter 
from very different points of view.” 

“There is not the least doubt of that,” Camilla 
cheerfully rejoined; “but mine is the right point. 
And if you want the pleasure of painting either or 
both of us, you must be business-like about it. What 
is the good of being absurd, and losing the oppor- 
?68 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


tunity to show what you can do with two such 
subjects as Miss Darracote, the great heiress, and 
Mademoiselle Vincenzo, the famous prima-donna? ” 

Notwithstanding his vexation, Norbert could not 
restrain a laugh. 

“ Mademoiselle Vincenzo will certainly never lose 
anything through such absurdity,” he replied. 

“You mean that for sarcasm, but it is quite true,” 
said Camilla. “ Mademoiselle Vincenzo is practical 
above all things, and would see nothing to be gained 
by refusing to allow a friend the pleasure of buying 
something which is open for any stranger to buy. 
But here comes your imposing major-domo again, 
Irma, with another card ! ” 

Irma glanced around, as the soft-footed Ellis 
reached her side, with another bit of pasteboard on 
his extended silver plate. 

“ Mr. Hastings begs that if Miss Darracote is en- 
gaged she will not hesitate to say so,” was the low- 
toned message accompanying it. 

There was an instant’s silence, while Irma looked 
at the card and Camilla and Norbert looked at her. 
Then she said : 

“ Show Mr. Hastings in. I shall be glad to see 
him. And glad for both of you to meet him,” she 
added, turning to the others. “ He was an intimate 
friend of my cousin, Mr. Darracote; and he has be- 
come a friend of mine.” 

“ A friend of Mr. Darracote ! ” repeated Camilla, 
her eyes turning toward a portrait of that gentleman 
which hung on the wall not far away. Its appear- 
ance suggested a sedate, middle-aged — or somewhat 
more than middle-aged — person, who might be 
269 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


supposed to take a fatherly interest in the young 
heiress. She felt a slight sense of impatience. Why 
should Irma not have excused herself to an old 
gentleman of that type? And then suddenly her 
eyes opened wide with amazement as she caught 
sight of Hastings entering the room. 

“ I hope,” said that gentleman, as he took Irma’s 
hand with his most deferential air, that you have 
not allowed me to disturb you in any respect.” 

On the contrary,” she answered ; “ I am delighted 
to have the opportunity of introducing you to my 
cousin. Miss Vincent, of whom you heard me speak, 
and who is somewhat more widely known as Made- 
moiselle Vincenzo.” 

Hastings bowed. 

“I am most happy to meet Miss Vincent,” he 
said ; “ and very sensible of the honor of knowing 
Mademoiselle Vincenzo.” 

“ And here,” said Irma, ‘‘ is another old friend, — 
Mr. Norbert, the artist, of whom perhaps you have 
also heard.” 

Of Mr. Norbert the artist I have certainly 
heard,” Hastings replied. “ I have not as yet had 
the pleasure of seeing your pictures,” he went on, 
addressing the young man ; “ but I have heard much 
of them from s.ome of my friends.” 

‘‘And fancy,” said Irma, “that I did not know 
until just now that he had any pictures here, nor that 
he had sprung into reputation since we parted in 
Paris ! ” 

“ Reputation is a large word,” said Norbert. “ For 
the present I can only claim a little, possibly transient, 
vogue.” 


270 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


‘'There are vogues and vogues,” said Hastings. 
“ Some are transient and some are enduring. The 
difference depends on the character of the achieve- 
ment upon which they rest. From what I have 
heard of your work I think that yours will prove en- 
during. Your pictures must certainly possess some 
very uncommon qualities.” 

Norbert shrugged his shoulders with an air of in- 
difference to this opinion. There was no possible 
reason why the words of the other should have dis- 
pleased him, and yet they did so. To himself he 
said that this was because they had an accent of 
patronage, but the cause in reality lay much deeper. 
It was to be found in the personal appearance of 
Hastings, — that appearance which had so amazed 
Camilla, and which not only surprised Norbert but 
filled him with an immediate, intuitive jealousy. He 
would have been jealous of almost any one who 
approached Irma ; but this man, youthful, hand- 
some, distinguished, with the ease of the world in 
manner and bearing, was especially fitted to rouse 
such a feeling. 

“ Those who talk most of the uncommon qualities 
of my work are unfortunately those who know least 
of art,” he replied, somewhat ungraciously. Then he 
turned to Irma: “But since you have not already 
seen the pictures, will you come and judge for your- 
self? I have taken a studio, and in a few days I shall 
have all of them there.” 

“ I shall be charmed to come,” she replied. “You 
must let me know as soon as you are ready for 
visitors.” 

“ If you wish to make an effective said 

271 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Camilla, “ you should open your studio with a house- 
warming. Invite everybody you know, and Irma 
and I will go and pour out tea for you.” 

Will you? ” Norbert asked, looking at Irma with 
an eager flash in his eyes. 

“ Of course I will,” she answered readily. That 
is ” — as a sudden thought struck her — “ I suppose 
there is no reason why I should not, but I am rather 
ignorant of social rules as yet.” 

She glanced at Hastings with a question in her 
eyes, to which he responded somewhat gravely: 

There is no reason — if Mrs. Treherne accom- 
panies you.” 

‘‘ I am sure Mrs. Treherne will do so,” Irma said 
confidently. “ She is very obliging. But you must 
meet her,” she added, addressing Norbert; '"and, 
since she is not in at present, the best plan will be 
for you to dine with us this evening.” 

Norbert replied that it would give him much pleas- 
ure to do so ; while Hastings, sitting by, was con- 
scious of a certain amusement at his own expense. 
It was not only that no such invitation had ever been 
accorded to him, but Irma’s whole manner to this 
young stranger was suggestive of an assurance that 
the latter occupied a^ place in her familiar regard 
which he (Hastings) had not yet attained. For the 
first time he recalled what he had once heard (with- 
out heeding) of gossip concerning “an artist lover.” 
Plainly here was the lover in question ; and plainly 
likewise he had the great advantage of being linked 
with a past which Irma regarded with passionate 
affection and regret. 

While these thoughts were passing through his 
272 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

mind, Camilla’s eyes were fastened upon him, and 
she startled him a little by speaking suddenly: 

Before you entered, Mr. Hastings, Irma told us 
that you were a friend of the late Mr. Darracote; 
so you may imagine that your appearance very much 
surprised me.” 

“ Indeed ! ” Hastings replied. And may I ask 
what there is in my appearance which should render 
the idea of my having been a friend of Mr. Darra- 
cote surprising? ” 

Camilla glanced again at the portrait on the wall. . 

“ Well, one naturally fancied that his friend,” she 
said, nodding toward it, “ would be an old gentleman 
like himself. I expected, therefore, some one very 
different, in age at least, from yourself.” 

“ But there is no law forbidding people from hav- 
ing friends younger than themselves,” Hastings re- 
joined. I assure you that I am not an impostor. 
Any one who knows anything about the matter will 
tell you that Mr. Darracote and myself were, great 
friends, notwithstanding the disparity in our ages. 
To account fully for it, however, I may mention that 
it was an hereditary friendship : my father was his 
contemporary and closest friend.” 

“ Ah ! ” (Camilla was regarding him with her head 
on one side like a bright-eyed bird.) “ That accounts 
for it. And this hereditary friendship is further 
carried on between Irma and yourself.” 

“ I have reason to believe so. At least I am cer- 
tainly a friend of Miss Darracote, and I hope that I 
have the honor of reckoning her a friend of mine.” 

“ Of one thing you may be sure,” said Camilla. 

There never was a more loyal soul than Irma. If 
i8 273 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


she once admits you to her friendship, you may 
reckon upon her to any extent.” 

Involuntarily Hastings glanced toward Norbert, to 
whom Irma was talking with an animation and 
interest he had never seen her display before. 

So it appears,” he said. 

Oh, we are more than ordinary examples — 
Mr. Norbert and I ! ” said Camilla. You see, 
we were both so closely identified with her old life ; 
and if you know Irma at all, you know how her heart 
clings to that life.” 

And no doubt to every one connected with it,” 
he said, with more significance than he intended in 
his tone. 

“ And also, to a certain extent, to every one con- 
nected with it,” she assented, still regarding him 
closely with her observant eyes. 

But Hastings, who had no mind to be read by this 
young inquisitor, at once changed the subject. 

“ I trust that I may be permitted to congratulate 
you upon the success you have achieved,” he said, 

and to hope that we are to have the pleasure of 
hearing you sing while you are in America.” 

“ It is doubtful,” she replied. “ I have come only 
for a rest and to see Irma. There have been some 
proposals made to me, but it is not likely that I shall 
sing in public while I am here.” 

“ But she will sing in private,” said Irma, turning 
quickly as she caught the last words. “ If you, too, 
will pardon the informality of the invitation and dine 
with us this evening, Mr. Hastings, you shall hear 
her.” 

Hastings was conscious of a thrill of gratification 
274 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


which had nothing to do with the promised oppor- 
tunity of hearing the new-fledged prima-donna. 

“ For such an inducement,” said he, “ I would 
pardon much more than the informality of an invita- 
tion which it gives me the greatest possible pleasure 
to accept.” 


XII 

“ OURELY a most astonishing change has come 
over our heiress,” said Mrs. Treherne to 
Hastings. 

It was in the drawing-room, after dinner, that this 
remark was made; and, since Hastings did not im- 
mediately respond, she went on : 

I have seldom been more surprised than when 
I heard of her having invited yourself and Mr. 
Norbert to dinner in such off-hand fashion. I can- 
not but wonder how the conjunction came about.” 

'‘Very simply,” Hastings answered. “I chanced 
to call at the same time as Mr. Norbert; and, after 
having asked him to dinner for the purpose of mak- 
ing your acquaintance. Miss Darracote was good 
enough to include me in the invitation in order that 
I might hear Miss Vincent sing.” 

“ Oh, that was it ! ” Mrs. Treherne’s tone did not 
indicate any very lively appreciation of such an in- 
ducement. '‘It is to be hoped that Miss Vincent’s 
singing will prove better than her manners,” she 
continued with some asperity. “I do not know 
when I have seen a young person upon whom the 
stamp of Bohemia is more objectionably set. It is 

275 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

a great misfortune for Irma that she has appeared. 
And this young painter and evident adorer — I ’m 
afraid his coming bodes ill for you.” 

Hastings looked at her with a smile. 

“It is very good of you,” he said, “to entertain 
fears on my behalf; but I do not think that Mr. 
Norbert’s advent concerns me in any important 
degree. ” 

Mrs. Treherne glanced across the room at the 
group which Irma, Norbert, and Camilla formed, as 
they sat chattering together with the gay familiarity 
only possible to those who have known each other 
long and intimately. 

“In that case,” she said, “if his advent does not 
concern you, it can only be because you have no 
intention of entering the lists yourself. For there 
is no mistaking his intention, and from the manner 
in which he is treated I should call him a formidable 
rival.” 

Hastings also glanced across the room before he 
replied. 

“No one’s opinion on such a subject could pos- 
sibly be more valuable than your own,” he said; 
“but still I venture to differ with you. I think 
that in Miss Darrac'ote’s treatment of Mr. Norbert 
there is very little to encourage an adorer. Her 
pleasure in his society is too frank and simple to 
be due to anything more than old friendship. He 
is closely connected with her past life; and it is 
that association which makes her welcome him so 
warmly.” 

“That association may also cause her to do more 
than welcome him warmly.” 

276 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


*‘I hardly think so, but these things are not 
always to be reckoned upon. They are very much 
matters of — fate, let us say. But there is one point 
on which I should like to make a suggestion. I 
hope that you have sufficient influence with Miss 
Darracote to prevent her from playing the part of 
hostess at his studio-tea.” 

Mrs. Treherne laughed. 

I confess I found the suggestion a little start- 
ling,” she said. “But, after all, the proposal is 
only part of the old friendship to which you refer 
all her warmth of manner.” 

“ Undoubtedly ; but, then, we cannot expect that 
others will recognize and understand as much. 
Therefore, if it is known that Miss Darracote has 
made her first social appearance in honor of this 
unknown artist, what conclusion save one will be 
drawn? And as we believe this conclusion would 
be incorrect, it is surely the part of a friend to save 
her from making such a mistake.” 

“Mr. Norbert’s studio is certainly not the place 
for Miss Darracote to make her debut into society,” 
Mrs. Treherne agreed. “ If she had appeared before 
at any social function, the matter would be different. 
But she has up to this time positively declined to 
do so.” 

“And you are probably aware that there has 
already been some gossip brought from Paris^about 
an artist-lover — - presumably this young man.”^ 

“It is very odd how such things get about,” said 
Mrs. Treherne, reflectively. “ She never saw him 
after my arrival in Paris, and yet, in some myste- 
rious manner, everybody heard a rumor of his exist- 
277 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

ence. I anticipate no difficulty in persuading her 
to give up the plan of assisting as a hostess at his 
studio-tea; but her appearance there even as a guest 
will be certain to excite remark.” 

‘'That cannot be avoided, for she is determined 
to assist him by every means in her power, and we 
must admit that her appearance will do much to 
promote his success.” 

“ She is also to sit to him for her portrait — have 
you heard that.? Ah,”— she laughed softly and a 
little maliciously at the expression of his face, — “I 
am afraid, mon ami, that I have reckoned a little 
too confidently on a disengaged fancy and an open 
field for you! She knows how to keep her own 
counsel, does Mademoiselle Irma. My opinion is 
that the report which came from Paris had more 
foundation than we imagined. It will be somewhat 
disappointing, but also rather amusing, if this young 
nobody out of Bohemia steps in, overthrows all our 
plans, — yours, mine, and poor Uncle Darracote’s, — 
and walks off triumphantly with the heiress and the 
fortune.” 

It was not often, in this their later intercourse, 
that she had the gratification of striking a spark of 
emotion out of the man before her, but now she saw 
a sudden flash in his eyes as he replied : 

“ It remains to be seen whether or not we shall 
have that — amusement.” 

“Yes, it is all in the future, and quite dependent 
on that inscrutable thing, a woman’s fancy. But” 
— and now she leaned toward him with an earnest 
air — “ if I might offer a word of advice it would be 
that which is sometimes given on the turf: Press 
278 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


the running. There are times when nothing else 
will win a race.” 

The change in her manner as she uttered the last 
words, the ring of apparent sincerity in them, sur- 
prised Hastings exceedingly; and again, as on an- 
other occasion, there came into his mind the 
question of what could be her motive for offering 
him such advice. Was it to lead him on to disap- 
pointment and refusal Knowing Mrs. Treherne as 
he did, it was difficult to avoid this suspicion; and 
yet something in her tone and manner, as well as in 
the situation itself, seemed to forbid such an expla- 
nation. She, on her part, was quick to read these 
thoughts in his face. 

“You don’t trust me,” she said, as she had 
said once before; “which is foolish as well as un- 
grateful. I suppose you wonder why I should feel 
any interest in the matter. Well, that is my affair. 
It is enough that I am anxious for you to succeed, 
and that I am giving you advice which if you are 
wise you will heed. The appearance of this artist 
has changed the situation more than you believe. In 
the first place, he is honestly in love with her. 
That is a great point in his favor.” 

“ Is it not possible for other men to be also 
‘honestly’ in love.?” 

“Possible — yes,” she rejoined dryly; “but for- 
give me if I say, perhaps not very probable. Besides, 
other men cannot offer the proof of disinterestedness 
which he can. Evidently he was in love with her, 
and was no doubt fortunate enough to tell her so, 
before she became an heiress. That, also, is a 
point in his favor. Then you must remember that 
279 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

although he has not a hundredth part of your knowl- 
edge of the world or your social accomplishments, 
these things appeal to Miss Darracote much less 
than his artistic gifts and his association with her 
past life.” 

'Mn short,” said Hastings, with outward com- 
posure but some inward discomfort, ^^you think that 
Mr. Norbert is likely to succeed in love as well as 
in art .? ” 

'‘Only in case you don’t heed what I have said,” 
she replied with emphasis. "You must press the 
running. If not — ” 

She paused abruptly; and Hastings, glancing 
around, saw that Irma was advancing across the 
floor toward them. The girl was smiling radiantly, 
and her whole aspect seemed to offer a striking and 
not altogether reassuring commentary on Mrs. Tre- 
herne’s words. 

"Will you come to the music-room.?” she said, 
as she reached them. "Camilla is going to sing 
for us.” 

A little later the group gathered in the beautiful 
white-and-gold music-room drew simultaneously a 
deep breath, as Camilla turned from the grand piano 
at which she had been singing. It was an audible 
sign of the astonishment and delight with which 
they had listened to her. Then came what for the 
size of the audience was a storm of applause, Mrs. 
Treherne eagerly leading. 

"Why am I not a crowned head, to give you a 
diamond bracelet in token of appreciation!” she 
cried. " But it will come — royal appreciation, dia- 
mond bracelets, and all. My dear, your voice is 
280 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


superb! I had no conception of hearing anything 
so fine.” 

Nor I,” said Hastings, turning to Irma. ‘‘There 
are not half a dozen singers in the world to-day 
with such a voice as Miss Vincent possesses.” 

“It is magnificent, is it not.?” said Irma. “I 
knew that you would be surprised and charmed. 
Every one is who hears her. It is no wonder that 
her success was so immediate and so brilliant when 
she appeared in public.” 

“No wonder at all. Success in her case was 
a foregone conclusion.” 

“Especially to herself,” Irma went on. “She 
never had a doubt of it. And she has no doubt of 
everything coming to her now, — reputation, fortune, 
all that great singers gain.” 

“All will come. With those magic notes of hers 
she can bring the world to her feet.” 

“And I am such a selfish wretch that I am almost 
sorry for it. I am sure you are surprised,” — Hast- 
ings indeed looked so, — “ but it is true. I have 
been so foolish as to fancy that when Camilla came 
I could persuade her to give up her professional 
career and share my life and all this fortune which 
has come to me. It was a pleasant dream. I im- 
agined how we would live together, travel, see every- 
thing that we used to talk of in the days of our 
poverty, go everywhere that we liked. I suppose 
the dream was too pleasant to become a reality,” 
she broke off with a sigh. “At all events, it is 
certain that it will never be realized; for Camilla 
prefers her professional life. And it is, no doubt, 
natural that she should.” 

zSi 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“Very natural, since the prospects, or, rather, 
the certainties in it are so brilliant,” said Hastings, 
inwardly commending Camilla’s choice. “ You have 
very much to offer her; but, after all, not so much 
as her art. For you must remember that besides 
the material rewards, which will come to her abun- 
dantly, a popular singer tastes success in its most 
intoxicating forms of homage, adulation, flattery.” 

“ So she says, and that is why she begs me not to 
ask her to give up such a life. Of course I shall 
not ask her again, but if I did it would be useless. 
Nothing would induce her to give it up. I am sure 
of that now.” 

“ Let us acknowledge that she would be made of 
very extraordinary material if she were willing to do 
so,” said Hastings. “With those wonderful tones 
of hers still ringing in my ears, I cannot see how it 
would be possible to ask such a sacrifice of her.” 

“I never thought of it as a sacrifice,” said Irma, 
“ or I should not have asked it. I fancied that she 
might find as much happiness in our life together as 
I should. But I recognize my mistake. She has 
no need of me nor of anything which I can give 
her. The world is before her and she is eager to 
conquer it.” 

“Most of us are eager to follow the life which 
will bring us, we think, most happiness and suc- 
cess,” said Hastings. “But it would not do for you 
to tempt many people with the offer you made to 
Miss Vincent.” 

“There is no one else whom I could wish to 
tempt,” she said; “and certainly no one who would 
give up anything for me. ” 

282 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

The absolute simplicity of these words seemed for 
a moment to render it impossible for him to reply to 
them. Then he leaned forward. There was no 
pretence in his tone. 

“There is at least one person,” he said, “who 
would give up anything for you.” 

She started. “I have no desire,” she said, “that 
any one should give up anything for me. It was 
very far from my intention to imply such a desire.” 

“I am confident of that,” he answered. “I only 
wished you to believe that, if the occasion arose, 
there is one person who would not hesitate at any 
sacrifice for you; or, to put the matter more cor- 
rectly, who would not feel anything a sacrifice 
which could add to your happiness.” 

Something in his tone compelled recognition of 
his sincerity, and there was a sudden softness of 
grateful emotion in the glance which now met 
his. 

“ I am not in the habit of asking my friends to 
contribute to my happiness by sacrifices,” she said. 
“But I do believe — and thank you. Now let us 
see if Camilla will not give us Mignon’s song.” 

It was with that subtle intoxication of the senses 
which music, above all things, is able to produce 
that Hastings looked up at the brilliant, starlit sky 
when, an hour later, he found himself on the door- 
step of Argyle, and was pleasantly conscious of the 
crisp coolness of the outer air upon his face. He 
turned to Norbert, who stood beside him. 

“What a glorious night for exercise!” he said. 
“One might enjoy a tramp of five miles in this 
283 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

atmosphere. I suppose you are walking into the 
city — or at least to the electric cars ? ” 

/‘Yes,” Norbert replied somewhat stiffly. '‘I 
came out in that manner.” 

“And I intend to spend the night at my cottage 
near here, but, if you have no objection, I ’ll walk 
with you to the railway. Will you have a cigar .> 
These are not bad.” 

Cigars having been lighted and coats buttoned 
across their chests, the two set off at a brisk pace 
around the sweeping drive to the gates. Again 
Hastings was the first to speak. 

“What an astonishing voice Miss Vincent has!” 
he said. “ I was never more surprised than by its 
quality and cultivation. I feel myself thrilling yet 
under the influence of it, and I am not an impres- 
sionable subject. ” 

“ It is remarkably fine,” Norbert assented. “And 
her success has been very great.” 

“With such a voice how could she fail to succeed ? 
A good actress, too, no doubt ? ” 

“Admirable. If her voice ever fails, she can 
make a career for herself as an actress. I have 
heard that said again and again by those who 
know.” 

“She is an artist to the ends of her fingers,” said 
Hastings, with a laugh. “There is no mistaking 
that. Nor any doubt that she will use her oppor- 
tunities to the utmost for fame and fortune. What 
a different type from Miss Darracote I Odd that 
they should be cousins.” 

“ And yet of both it may be said with truth, that 
they are, by nature at least, artists to the ends of 
284 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


their fingers,” answered Norbert, in the tone of one 
who, if he has not already taken offence, is fully 
prepared to do so. “ It is not possible to judge 
Miss Darracote very accurately in her present envi- 
ronment. It does not suit her in the least. She is 
a changed being — cramped and constrained, like a 
bird in a cage, which has forgotten how to sing.” 

“ And you think that the bird should be restored 
to its native air, in order that it may sing again.?” 
Hastings asked. “But what is that native air — 
Bohemia.? ” 

“If you like to call it so,” the other returned — 
and now the offence was very perceptible in his tone. 
“It is certainly the artistic atmosphere in which 
she was an altogether different creature from what 
she is now. To one who knew her there the change 
is most pathetic. And how could it be otherwise.? 
What has Gilbert Darracote’s daughter to do with 

His eyes swept with a glance of indignant scorn 
over the ordered stateliness of the wide grounds 
lying around them, clearly to be seen in the bright 
starlight. It was evident that he would have liked 
to scorch and wither these visible signs of all that 
divided Irma from her old life. 

“ Does it not occur to you that some other things 
beside her environment may have changed Miss 
Darracote.?” Hastings suggested. “She has suf- 
fered grief, she has been in mourning and conse- 
quent seclusion. Those conditions do not tend to 
produce gnyety, if that is what you miss. 

“That is not all I miss,” Norbert replied. “The 
change is deeper than any mere loss of gayety. It 
285 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


is as I said before, — she is cramped and constrained 
in all her faculties. The former atmosphere of her 
life was artistic and intellectual in the extreme. 
What is it now.? Isn’t it embodied in that woman 
— that Mrs. Treherne — who is a perfect type of the 
arrogant and stupid Philistinism of money and so- 
called fashion.?” 

“Poor Mrs. Treherne ! ” said Hastings, in a tone 
of genuine amusement. “I really don’t think she 
deserves to be quite so severely characterized. We 
are all Philistines, no doubt, when compared with 
the types to be found in the atmosphere of which 
you speak, but our influence has hardly been so 
great as to cramp and constrain Miss Darracote. 
There is no doubt, however, ” he added more seriously, 
“that the world in which she finds herself now is 
very different from the world she left. But, after 
all, don’t we, to a certain degree, make our own 
atmosphere.? I think you will find that in time 
Miss Darracote will make hers. From my knowl- 
edge of her I should say that she is less likely than 
many artists whom I have known to have her stand- 
ards lowered by the influence of money and ‘ so-called 
fashion. ’ ” 

Norbert felt himself flush. It was impossible to 
resent the sarcasm of those quiet words, without 
thereby acknowledging a personal application of 
them, but, none the less, he felt them keenly; and 
it was a minute before he could speak with the 
calmness he knew to be desirable. They had left 
the grounds of Argyle, and were tramping, side by 
side, along the broad white avenue which stretched 
between shadowy copses and open, swelling lawns, 
286 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

toward the spot where the reflection of the city’s 
lights put out the star-shine, when he finally said: 

“There isn’t the least doubt that artists, like 
other people, are subject to the temptation of having 
their standards lowered by those influences, and that 
numbers of them yield to the temptation. But we 
were not speaking of individuals but of an atmos- 
phere. Of course, to a certain extent, any one as 
rich as Miss Darracote can make her own atmos- 
phere, but only to a certain extent. There is n’t 
much place for millionaires in what you call Bohe- 
mia. They can only enter there as outsiders, ama- 
teurs, people who play at art and patronize artists, 
and that is a role which would hardly suit her 
father’s daughter.” 

“In other words,” said Hastings, “you are agreed 
with the world you profess to despise in rating the 
outward accidents of life — and what is wealth but 
an outward accident } — above the realities of charac- 
ter and temperament. I don’t really see that the 
most abject worshipper of the golden calf could do 
more.” 

“I don’t rate the outward accidents of life above 
the realities,” the young man answered hotly; “but 
I distinctly recognize that they are so rated, and I 
prefer to accept conditions as I find them rather than 
to make a vain fight against them. I may despise 
the worship of the golden calf, but I should be blind 
if I didn’t see that the whole world is engaged in 
that worship.” 

“With the exception of a small portion of Bohe- 
mia,” said Hastings, in the same tone of exasperat- 
ing quietness. “ But in the select number of those 
287 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


who never bent the knee to Mammon I have always 
understood that Miss Darracote’s father was in- 
cluded, yet it seems that you would exclude his 
daughter from what you call her native atmosphere 
because she has inherited, by no fault of her own, 
a large amount of money. Is that very liberal or 
very just ? ” 

“ It would be neither, if I had ever meant to 
imply such a thing,” Norbert returned. ‘‘But, so 
far from that, I only intended to express my sense 

— which has the advantage of being based on knowl- 
edge — of the wide difference which divides the 
world Miss Darracote has left from that in which 
circumstances have placed her. And no one is 
stronger than circumstances, no one can resist the 
effect of environment. It tells in one way or an- 
other. It must tell, in time, even on her^ He 
was silent for a moment, and then added coldly: 
“Don’t misunderstand me again. I don’t for a 
moment imagine that it can ever change herself, her 
real self, but it can make a great barrier between 
her past and her present, over which it will be diffi- 
cult for her to step. But I do not really care to 
discuss or analyze Miss Darracote further. I appre- 
ciate her too highly, I admire her too much — ” 

Despite himself, and his earnest desire to be cool 
and quiet, his voice trembled, broke. How could 
he speak, even in the most guarded terms, of what 
she was to him, and not betray the secret of his 
heart to this cynical, scoffing man of the world, as 
he called Hastings in his thoughts.^ So he stopped 

— not knowing that betrayal was impossible, be- 
cause the man of the world, who felt no inclination 

288 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

to be either cynical or scoffing, recognized the secret 
as clearly as himself; and understood also the 
meaning of that abrupt pause, the reluctance to utter 
what lay deepest and nearest the sources of all 
reverence, all admiration. 

“I don’t think that our discussion of Miss Dar- 
racote has been at all disrespectful,” Hastings said. 
“ Indeed, I must assure you, that however Philistine 
the friends whom she has made in her new life may 
be, they do not yield to those of the old in apprecia- 
tion and admiration of her character. But we will 
change the subject. — Did I understand that you 
have taken a studio in the new Alston building? 
The studios there are, I believe, admirably con- 
structed, with a special view to artist’s require- 
ments.” 

On this safe ground the conversation was main- 
tained until they reached the electric railway. After 
seeing Norbert on a car, Hastings turned and walked 
back toward his cottage. As he swung along, at a 
pace which proved his good physical condition, he 
said to himself that if his intentions towards Irma 
had needed any touch and spur of rivalry, that touch 
and spur had come. Transparent, absurdly trans- 
parent, even to the most superficial observation, was 
the feeling of the man from whom he had parted, 
but he knew that it was not to be despised on that 
ground. It had the strength of all simple and direct 
things, besides a certain touch of young romance, 
due in this case, however, not so much to youth as 
to temperament. And that temperament — the 
temperament of the artist — was it not possible that 
it might have an attraction for the girl who had 
19 289 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

been born and brought up in the midst of things 
artistic, which he, Hastings, might underrate? He 
acknowledged to himself that it was possible, and 
yet he had no sense of fear for his own success. 
This, no doubt, was partly due to the self-confidence 
born of a life which had never known a serious 
defeat, especially in its relations with women; but it 
was more particularly and immediately due to the 
remembrance of the eyes which had so lately looked 
into his, and of the voice which had said, ^‘I do 
believe — and thank you.” 

No, he would not suffer himself to be hurried, he 
would not ‘‘press the running.” He would wait his 
own time, use his own judgment, enjoy to the 
utmost the charm of the present, a more delicate, 
elusive charm than he had ever known before. All 
the mental epicurean in him rose in protest at the 
thought of ending it. If life had taught him any- 
thing, it was the value, and the astonishing rarity, 
of such feelings as he recognized in himself, and, 
as he walked on in the night, with his pulses thrill- 
ing as they had not thrilled since he was twenty 
years old, he determined that nothing should induce 
him to hasten by an hour the end of anything so 
exquisite. 

XIII 

N ORBERT’S studio-tea was a decided success, 
notwithstanding that Irma, yielding to Mrs. 
Treherne’s representations, did not assist at it in a 
hostess-like capacity. The mere fact of her pres- 
ence, however, was sufficient to attract attention to 
290 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


the young artist, as Hastings had prophesied that 
it would; and even more effective to that end were 
a few words which she spoke in his behalf to her 
friends, Mrs. Lawton and Mrs. Royal Smith. 

“An old friend of your father’s and your own.?” 
said the latter. “ Of course I will do all in my 
power to assist him. Tell him to send me a card 
for his exhibition, or whatever he calls it, and then 
I shall be prepared to talk of his pictures intelli- 
gently.” 

Now, every one who knew Mrs. Royal Smith knew 
also that she was not only always “as good as her 
word,” but generally even better; so it was not 
surprising that her appearance in Norbert’s studio 
was followed by a very enthusiastic patronage of 
himself and his art. The undoubted cleverness of 
his work at once appealed to her, and before leaving 
she gave him an order for a portrait of herself. 

“It is really a matter of curiosity with me,” she 
assured him. “ I want to see myself through your 
eyes, for they seem to be very shrewd eyes indeed. 
The manner in which you have caught and brought 
out the dominant characteristics of these people ” — 
indicating some of the portraits he had painted in 
Paris — “is most remarkable. Do you think you 
can do as much with me.? ” 

“I ought to be able to do more,” answered the 
young man, regarding her with that intent artist 
gaze which sees so much and so deeply. “You are 
a better subject than any of those. A painter can- 
not bring out character in a portrait unless there is 
character to be brought out, you know; and the 
more character, the better chance to do good work.” 

291 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“Well, see what you can make of me,” said she, 
laughing. “ I promise you that if you succeed — 
and you need not be afraid of being truthful — it 
will become the fashion to be painted by you. 
There is nothing so popular just now as anything 
that savors of self-analysis and self-revelation, and 
everybody will be eager to see his or her character 
revealed through the medium of such art as yours. 
Only forgive me if I make one suggestion — put 
your prices high enough. This delightful world of 
ours takes a man’s work at his own valuation of it, 
and modest merit is altogether at a discount.” 

“You are more than kind,” replied Norbert, who 
was exceedingly surprised. “ I shall bear your 
advice in mind; although it strikes me that there 
would be something of presumption in my venturing 
to ask prices such as are paid for the work of famous 
artists.” 

“It is the way to become famous yourself,” she 
said. U midace^ V aiidace^ toujonrs Vaudace! Be- 
lieve me that is a good motto to adopt in beginning 
life. Half the reputations in the world are made 
by following it.” 

Involuntarily Norbert’ s glance turned toward Irma, 
who was standing with Mrs. Lawton on the other 
side of the room. 

“I believe you knew Mr. barracote,” he said. 
“ I am thinking how much he scorned any success 
which came to an artist other than by the honest 
doing of good work.” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Royal Smith assented. “I knew 
Mr. Darracote, and his ideals and theories, very 
well. They were fine and high, — nobody appre- 
292 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

ciated that better than I. But in consequence of 
them he lived and died a poor and comparatively 
unknown man. Would it suit you to live and die 
in such fashion ^ ” 

‘‘I confess that it would not,” he answered, more 
and more surprised by this little white-haired lady 
with the keen face and incisive speech. “ I have as 
much more ambition as I have less unworldliness 
than he possessed.” 

Mrs. Royal Smith gave a nod of approval. 

“So much the better,” she said. “ Probably you 
will consider me a sadly worldly old woman, but I 
think that it is a misfortune to have too much un- 
worldliness. We are agreed that it was a misfor- 
tune for Mr. Darracote; and here is this lovely 
creature, his daughter,” — she watched her auditor 
closely now, — “who, I fear, will commit some mis- 
take, with lifelong consequences perhaps, from the 
same characteristic.” 

Norbert looked as startled as he felt. 

“I know that Miss Darracote, like her father, is 
unworldly in the extreme; but what particular mis- 
take do you fear for her ? ” he asked. 

“Many kinds of mistakes are possible,” said Mrs. 
Royal Smith, evasively. Then she put up her eye- 
glasses, and made a remark concerning the picture 
before which they were standing. 

As a matter of fact, she felt pretty sure of what 
she wished to know. It was obvious that Norbert 
was in love with Irma, and it was characteristic of 
Mrs. Royal Smith that she decided then and there 
that she would throw^the weight of her influence in 
his favor. For, instead of being what she called 

293 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


herself, a sadly worldly woman, she was at bottom 
very unworldly, notwithstanding her knowledge of 
the world and her social leadership. She had from 
the first conceived a disapproval of Hastings as a 
suitor of the young heiress; and it seemed to her 
now that Norbert had opportunely appeared to pre- 
vent anything so certain to end unhappily as a mar- 
riage between the daughter and pupil of an idealist 
and a man of the world noted even among men of 
the world for his disillusionized attitude toward life. 
How much more appropriate, as well as more roman- 
tic, it would be if the girl should marry an artist like 
her father, one who had no doubt loved her before 
any golden halo was cast around her, rather than 
take the great risk of uniting her life with one who 
was attracted by her wealth alone ! All this passed 
rapidly through Mrs. Royal Smith’s mind as she stood 
talking of the pictures ; and the decided manner in 
which she settled Irma’s future only afforded another 
proof of the manner in which many of us fancy our- 
selves able to play Providence for our friends. 

On the other side of the studio Mrs. Lawton was 
meanwhile saying to Irma: 

It is no wonder I thought this picture ” — a 
charmingly painted head before which they were 
standing — “ resembled you strikingly. You remem- 
ber I spoke of it to you before I knew that you were 
acquainted with the artist. One sees now that it is 
neither more nor less than a portrait.” 

“It is only a study of my head drawn from mem- 
ory,” Irma replied. “I never sat for it.” 

Mrs. Lawton looked surprised. 

“If you never sat for it,” she said, “the painter 
294 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


must carry your face with wonderful fidelity in his 
memory — or in his heart.” 

Under the significance of the last words, Irma 
colored and gave the speaker a reproachful glance. 

“Do you not know,” she said, “that an artist sees 
— and remembers — things to which other people are 
blind And in my old life Mr. Norbert had many 
opportunities of seeing me; for he was one of our 
circle of particular friends.” 

“ Oh, I know very well of what an artist is capa- 
ble!” said Mrs. Lawton, smiling. “And I also 
know that in other respects he is very like other 
men. But if this were painted without a sitting, 
one wonders a little what he could do with one.” 

“You will probably see before very long, for I 
have given him a commission to paint my portrait ; 
although I really do not know what I am to do with 
it after it is painted. But the object to be accom- 
plished is, first, that he may show what he can do; 
and, secondly, to give him the benefit of the order. 
Would you not like yours painted also.^* You are 
a very artistic subject.” 

Mrs. Lawton shook her head a little sadly. 

“No,” she answered. “What you have said of 
yourself is doubly true of me — I should not know 
what to do with it. There are already many pic- 
tures of me in existence and there is no one to value 
them — I mean in any special sense. One does not 
care to have one’s portrait painted for one’s self.” 

“ You must have many friends and relatives who 
would value it,” said Irma. “Your case is not like 
mine, for I have really and truly no one.” 

“But you will have some one — every one, in fact, 

295 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

who is needed to make your life full and happy,” 
replied the elder woman. ‘‘Our cases are indeed 
totally different; for your life is all before you, and 
mine is all behind. Only — she passed her hand 
through the girl’s arm and pressed it gently — “you 
must not make an error at the beginning. You must 
not mistake anything else — not the tenderness of 
old friendship nor any glamour of new fancy — for 
the divine thing called love. Forgive me for ven- 
turing to say this. But I am sure that with you 
especially such a mistake would be fatal. And 
now ” — she changed her tone quickly — “ let us look 
at some of the other portraits. It is all wonderfully 
clever work, and perhaps for your sake I may 
change my mind about giving Mr. Norbert an 
order. But I would prefer that it were for a por- 
trait of some one else rather than of myself. 

“ I have given him an order for a portrait of 
Camilla as well as of myself,” said Irma. “I think 
she will make an effective subject.” 

“Admirable,” answered Mrs. Lawton, glancing at 
Camilla, who was seated at a little distance in a 
high-backed chair covered with some Oriental stuff 
of dusky blue and gold which threw into relief the 
fairness of her beauty, enhanced as it was by the 
most picturesque attire. By her side sat Rapier on 
a low seat, teacup in hand, and his ugly, clever 
face full of animated interest as they talked. 

“Your cousin is very handsome,” Mrs. Lawton 
went on, after a brief pause. “But how soon a 
stage life sets its stamp on a woman ! She may not 
at this moment be thinking of effect, but how per- 
fectly she is posed for it all the same ! ” 

296 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“Yes,” Irma agreed, rather reluctantly. “I find 
a great change in Camilla, — greater than I would 
have imagined so short a time could work. And in 
a certain sense I have lost her. I thought we might 
have been much to each other, for we are both 
alone in the world ; but she is intoxicated by success 
and homage, and absorbed in her career. It is 
natural, no doubt; but to me it is a great disap- 
pointment.” 

Again Mrs. Lawton pressed the arm she held. 

'‘Life is made up of disappointments,” she said. 
“ Our only wisdom is in learning to bear them with 
philosophy. Above all, there are so few people in 
the world who can be trusted not to disappoint us. 
— Ah, yonder comes Gerard Hastings ! Now, it 
would surprise many people to hear me say so, but 
I really think that he is one of the most trustworthy 
persons I know. He makes few professions and has 
no high pretensions of any kind, but within the 
limit of what he does profess he is to be trusted to 
the last extremity.” 

So it came to pass that, in a certain sense, these 
two friends of Irma’s arrayed themselves as partisans 
on opposite sides. It was only to be expected, how- 
ever, that the majority of those who came to see the 
work of the new artist, and who found the young 
heiress very much in evidence and radiant with in- 
terest and pleasure in his success, should have 
leaped to a conclusion similar to that of Mrs. Royal 
Smith. Evidently here was the artist lover regard- 
ing whom there had been many rumors; and people 
were to be excused for saying to each other that it 
looked very much as if Gerard Hastings might, after 
297 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

all, have to content himself with only that share of 
the Darracote fortune which he had received under 
the will of the late Mr. Darracote. 

It added very much to the general interest of .the 
situation when Hastings himself appeared; and the 
keenest observation failed to detect any cloud of 
possible or prospective failure about him. He was 
full of the most cordial praise and patronage of the 
artist’s work, but there was nothing in this patron- 
age which the most sensitive-minded of artists could 
have resented. Indeed, like Mrs, Royal Smith, he 
seemed determined that his interest should take a 
practical form. He, too, ordered a portrait of him- 
self, which was also to include that of two favorite 
dogs; and when Norbert hesitated to accept the 
commission, saying that he already had his hands 
full of work, Hastings bade him take his time about 
executing it. 

*‘I am in no haste,” he said. “But for your own 
sake I may suggest a pleasant way of doing it. 
Whenever you want a little change from your studio 
here, and the sitters and visitors who will soon 
throng about you, come out to my country-place — 
it adjoins Argyle. I can furnish you a room with a 
capital light, and you can make studies of the dogs 
and myself at your leisure, — especially of the dogs, 
for I am more anxious about their portraits than my 
own.” 

In this speech the words, “it adjoins Argyle,” 
arrested Herbert’s attention, and prevented the 
refusal which trembled on his lips. To be near 
Argyle was not only an inducement, but a sudden 
desire seized him to watch this man at close quarters 
298 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

and learn what he really had to fear from him. The 
matter ended, therefore, in his accepting the com- 
mission and promising to go out to the cottage to 
make his studies for the portrait. If Hastings, on 
his side, needed a reward, Irma’s smile when she 
heard of the arrangement was sufficient. 

“ How very good of you ! ” she said. “ Why, with 
orders from yourself and Mrs. Royal Smith and per- 
haps Mrs. Lawton, he will float into success at once. 
And I should not wish you to give him the order if I 
were not sure that he is really a very clever artist.” 

‘‘His work speaks for him,” replied Hastings. 
“One sees his ability at a glance. Indeed it is 
such marked ability that he needs no patronage to in- 
sure his success. Only, a few orders will of course 
smooth his way at the first. And I fancy it will be 
pleasant for him to come out to Idlesse, where I shall 
be a good deal, now that the spring is opening.” 

“That will be delightful,” said Irma, frankly; 
“for then you can both come over to Argyle; and, 
with Camilla there, it will seem like a bit of the dear 
old life renewed.” 

“But since I had no part in that life,” said Hast- 
ings, “ I will perhaps be out of place in such a meet- 
ing of old friends.” 

If it was not altogether hypocritical, this speech, 
the speaker should have been reassured by the look 
in the eyes that met his own. 

“Does it matter whether friends are old or new if 
they are friends } ” Irma asked. 

The next afternoon there was again a social gath- 
ering at Argyle, for Irma had asked those who had 

299 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

any claim to be called her friends to come and hear 
Camilla sing. That it was an artistic triumph for 
the latter need scarcely be said. All save a few, 
who had heard of the young singer’s brilliant debut 
abroad, found themselves more than astonished, and 
Rapier was quite justified in begging Miss Darracote 
if she had any more geniuses to introduce to exer- 
cise a little prudence in presenting them, or society 
would be altogether stupefied by such new and 
extraordinary brilliancy. 

''You see we aren’t accustomed to it,” he ex- 
plained. "Our lions are mostly of the tamest 
description, and we make their roaring, such as it 
is, go a long way. We are not fond of too much 
cleverness. There is probably an effect of contrast 
in it that we disapprove. But here you have the 
temerity to present to us a prima-donna from grand 
opera, immediately after an artist who puts our char- 
acters, rather than our faces, on his canvas.” 

"But you are really giving me too much credit — 
or is it too much blame Irma laughed in reply. 
"I am not responsible for Mr. Norbert, however 
much I may be for Camilla. He brought himself 
and his pictures here without consulting me.” 

" All the same, I think we must hold you respon- 
sible for Mr. Norbert, as well as for Miss Vincent. 
I fancy that we should not have his pictures and 
himself among us if he had not known that he pos- 
sessed at least one friend here.” 

" That he certainly knew. I should be very sorry 
if he had for an instant doubted it. But in Bohemia 
we know our friends, and we never doubt them.” 

"Happy Bohemia! — happy people who dwell 
300 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


there ! I am tempted to leave the green pastures of 
society and take my way thither. There is only one 
drawback — you have left it. And then if it is send- 
ing such recruits to us as Miss Vincent and Mr. 
Norbert, it will not become necessary to forsake 
society in order to find cleverness.” 

“ How flattering you are to the friends who treat 
you with such distinguished consideration, and cry, 
‘How delightfully clever Mr. Rapier is! — what 
lovely things he writes I ’ ” said Irma, with gentle 
mockery. “You forget, too, that while clever men 
may be the exception and not the rule in what is 
called society, they are the rule and not the excep- 
tion in Bohemia.” 

“I understand what you kindly imply. The 
cleverness which suffices for a social reputation looms 
very small in Bohemia. I am not altogether unac- 
quainted with that fact. I, too, have occasionally 
wandered there. But tell me — is it possible that 
the stout man yonder in a Roman collar is really 
Albert Thorne, the critic and essayist, who went 
under so completely years ago when he joined the 
' Catholic Church } ” 

Irma looked a little puzzled. 

“I think,” she said, “that you will have to ask 
himself that question. You see I am very new to 
things and reputations in this country. He is Father 
Thorne, a priest and one who writes admirably — I 
know so much, for I have read some of his articles 
— but it is all I do know. If you like I will intro- 
duce you to him; he will tell you whether or not he 
is the person of whom you speak.” 

“I shall be immensely obliged,” Rapier replied, 
301 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“for there is a volume of his essays that is a vade 
meciim of mine. And really, if this is the Albert 
Thorne, you will deserve a premium for unearthing 
old geniuses, as well as presenting new ones.’’ 

“Let us then settle the point at once.’’ 

Father Thorne, who was talking to Camilla, 
turned as they approached. 

“I can hardly express my sense of the great 
pleasure you have given us, in allowing us to hear 
Miss Vincent sing,” he said to Irma. “I have not 
heard such a voice for more than twenty years.” 

“He knows absolutely everything about singing,” 
said Camilla, in a half-awed tone. could have 
fancied it was the maestro talking. ” 

“Oh, I was once a passionate musical enthusiast,” 
said the priest, with a smile. “There was a time 
when I fancied that a false harmony would have 
distracted me. But one gets bravely over such 
things. I listen now with great equanimity to 
the singing of my choir every Sunday.” 

“Camilla shall sing for you next Sunday,” said 
Irma, smiling. “And now let me present Mr. 
Rapier, who is very anxious to find some one — he 
will tell us whom — under the soutane of Father 
Thorne. ” 


“Only the author of ‘ Some Problems of Life ’” 

said Rapier, ‘‘if I maybe permitted to seek for 
him. 


“I should be very glad if I could say that you 
would not find him,” replied Father Thorne. “We 
have all no doubt some things in our lives to repent 
but It does not happen to all of us to put those 
things into the form of literature, which has 
302 


a 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


curious power of survival when one least desires that 
it shall survive. I should like to know that ‘ Some 
Problems of Life ’ had dropped into the limbo of 
forgotten things.” 

“But why.?” asked Irma. 

“I think I can guess why,” said Rapier. “Many 
of the themes are treated in a very pessimistic spirit, 
of which Father Thorne now possibly disapproves. 
But being much of a pessimist myself, I find that 
this adds to their fascination.” 

“ If instead of describing yourself as ‘ much of a 
pessimist,’ Rapier, you described yourself as a pro- 
fessional pessimist, it strikes me that it would be 
more accurate,” said Hastings, who now joined the 
group. “Pessimism has become one of the tricks 
of the trade of you modern literateurs, and, thanks 
to your persistent efforts, everything that one reads 
is so steeped in gloom that one has to leave litera- 
ture and go to life itself to find a little cheer- 
fulness.” 

“They certainly don’t appear to be weighed down 
with gloom themselves, these people who write and 
paint such frightfully depressing things!” cried 
Camilla. “Mr. Rapier, for example, looks as if he 
found life sufficiently cheerful, although I dare say 
he writes of it as if it were an unmitigated evil.” 

Mr. Rapier, with an air of modest merit, owned 
that this was very much his view of existence, when 
he put pen to paper! When it was a question of 
merely living, however, there were perhaps some 
mitigations to be found — as, for example. Miss 
Vincent’s singing. 

“But the writer,” he added, “does not speak of 

303 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


himself and his own small experience when he 
writes of life. He looks around him, and seeing 
the futility, the hopelessness, the sadness of all 
things, he puts on record what he finds.” 

‘‘If he only puts on record what he finds, he is 
not a pessimist,” said Father Thorne. “To paint 
things as they are is not pessimism. Pessimism is 
to see a soul of evil at the heart of existence, to 
acknowledge no benefit in suffering, hardship, or 
sacrifice. But if we recognize, instead of evil, a 
soul of good, what are these things but opportuni- 
ties to learn such lessons as prosperity and exemp- 
tion from pain can never teach ? ” 

It was a strange, earnest note, breaking in on the 
light chatter, and it recalled to Irma the scene in 
the garden of Passy, when their friends had gathered 
to bid them good-bye, and when, before he went so 
unexpectedly upon his last, long journey, Gilbert 
Darracote had spoken of the player who “ learned by 
his losses.” Were they not all players in the great 
game of life, and by what deep, heart-searching 
losses were they yet to learn the task set for them } 

The thought made her turn away. She had no 
longer interest for the discussion into which Rapier 
eagerly plunged, and when she found Norbert by her 
side, the memory of the past with which he was so 
closely linked — his association with that last pic- 
ture of her father, the recollection of the part he 
had borne by sympathy in her great sorrow — gave 
to her manner, her voice, her eyes a kindness abso- 
lutely affectionate. 

“Do you remember,” she was saying to him as 
they crossed the room, “ how the Abb^ Ravoux spoke 

304 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

that last evening — and what my father said ? Father 
Thorne’s words were like an echo of it. Ah, if we 
could only remember always that there is ‘ a soul of 
good ’ even at the heart of things evil, life would be 
very different. It is a talisman which changes 
everything.” 

^*But you need no talisman to change your life,” 
Norbert answered. ‘‘You possess everything that 
the world values — ” 

“The world, yes — and is there no danger that I, 
too, may grow to value excessively these things the 
world rates so high.^^” she asked. “But I don’t 
possess everything. I lack the thing of all others 
which is of most value in life, and I can’t but 
wonder a little what soul of good there is at the 
heart of loneliness.” 

“But you need not be lonely,” Norbert began, and 
then stopped abruptly. This was surely nd time nor 
place to utter all that burned within him for utter- 
ance, however much her kindness, her confidence, 
might tempt him to do so. There was hope, how- 
ever — not only then, but later, he told himself, 
there was distinctly hope, in these words of hers. 
For since she owned that she was lonely, was it not 
as much as to say that nothing in her new life, 
neither new splendors, nor new friends, nor those 
who plainly aspired to be more than friends, had been 
able to fill the heart which still longed for the things 
and the friends of her old life.? 

Meanwhile, there were many eyes bent upon the 
young heiress as she crossed the room talking in 
such intimate fashion with the artist, whose name 
every one in her circle, and out of it for that matter, 

20 305 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


was connecting with her own. Mrs. Treherne’s eyes 
had a shade of uneasiness in them as they followed 
the two figures. This conjunction was very far from 
what she wished to see. She glanced at Hastings 
irritably. Why did he not follow her advice and 
‘‘press the running His self-confidence, his 
vanity, might for once lead him to failure if he 
underrated — and it seemed that he did underrate 
— the strength of the forces of old association, and 
tastes in common, of idealism, of Heaven only knew 
what absurdity, which were arrayed against him. 
She turned to Mrs. Royal Smith, and was surprised 
to meet a curious look of satisfaction. 

“It is pleasant to see how much Miss Darracote 
enjoys the society of her old friends,” that lady said. 
“She has bloomed into new life under their influ- 
ence. And really the advent of these two clever 
young people makes one understand what a different 
world it was in which she formerly lived, and how 
very s'tupid we must all seem to her.” 

Mrs. Treherne’s lip curled. 

“I don’t find myself ‘under conviction’ of stu- 
pidity because a painter and a singer from Bohemia 
have been suddenly brought into our midst,” she 
said. “ Of course one knows that such people exist, 
yet what is their cleverness, after all, but a trade, 
like any other I consider it a great misfortune for 
Irma that they are here — especially the man. One 
sees at a glance what his hopes are, and there is no 
telling what folly she may commit. A girl brought 
up in our world would be very different — ” 

“Very,” Mrs. Royal Smith assented somewhat 
dryly. 


306 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“One would know what to reckon on with her,” 
Mrs. Treherne continued, “and she would have 
some idea of the relative value of things, of what is 
and what is not possible. But this girl has none, 
and some day she may startle us by doing the 
impossible.” 

“ She will not startle me,” said Mrs. Royal Smith, 
quietly. “ The best thing that I can hope for her is 
that she will have courage to make and live her own 
life, without regard to what is expected of her 
because she has inherited a great deal of money. If 
she marries this young artist — for we may as well 
speak frankly — I shall be glad. She will be saved 
from — well, from obvious dangers, and all that was 
best in her own life, the artistic atmosphere and all 
the rest of it, will be restored to her, while she will 
still retain the advantages of the new. Such a mar- 
riage, it seems to me, would be absolutely ideal.” 

“You amaze me!” said Mrs. Treherne, very sin- 
cerely. “ I had no idea that you were so romantic. ” 

“I suppose not,” the other replied. “My roman- 
tic tendencies have not very much play in the world 
where we live. But Irma Darracote belongs to quite 
another world. It is well to remember that.” 

Some one else was remembering it at this moment. 
Mrs. Lawton, also, had watched the girl moving 
across the floor, and had then looked at Hastings, 
who stood beside her. 

“ ‘ I, too, shepherds in Arcadia dwelt,’ ” she mur- 
mured. “I fancy Mr. Norbert is counting very 
much on the fact that he dwelt in Arcadia with our 
Pscyhe before she became an heiress. But I think 
he will find that she is not altogether Arcadian. 

307 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Unless I am much mistaken, she will not be moved 
by any glamour of old association to turn away from 
a rare opportunity for a wide life and give herself 
to a narrow one.” 

Hastings could not restrain a smile. 

“Mr. Norbert,” he said, “would think that he, 
and all which he stands for, represents the wide life 
and we^ and all that surrounds us, the narrow one.” 

“Mr. Norbert,” she replied in a tone of delicate 
but not unkind scorn, “ is too young to know, and I 
doubt if he will ever learn, that there can be as 
much narrowness in the pursuit of art as in — let us 
say, the buying of sugar. It is not the same kind of 
narrowness, but it is narrowness all the same. For 
him nothing exists except the world of art, but we 
know that a very wide world, full of varied interests, 
lies outside of art — or if not of art, at least of the 
world in which painters live and talk * shop ’ about 
their pictures. Fate has shown unusual discern- 
ment in placing Irma in this wider world, and I am 
confident she will not prove unworthy of her des- 
tiny, as Mr. Rapier would say.” 

“I entirely agree with you,” said Hastings, “and 
I only wonder where you have gained so much 
wisdom.” 

“When one is merely a looker-on in life, one 
must be very dull if one does not perceive and learn 
a great deal which escapes the notice of those who 
are absorbed in their personal affairs,” she answered. 
“And nothing, I think, strikes one more than the 
shallowness of many judgments. There is so much 
that is complex both in life and in character — ” 

She paused, her glance still following Irma, who 
308 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


seated herself on a sofa at the other side of the 
room and swept aside her skirts to make room for 
Norbert beside her. 

“ Now, that has the appearance of a pretty romance, 
and might deceive — no doubt is deceiving many 
people,” Mrs. Lawton went on meditatively. “Yet 
I am perfectly sure that it isn’t what it looks, and I 
am equally sure that it would be a great mistake if 
it were. That sounds very obscure, but perhaps 
you understand me.^” 

Again Hastings smiled. 

“I understand perfectly,” he said, “and can only 
repeat that I fully agree with you. Miss Darracote 
is certainly made for something wider and better 
than an atelier in Bohemia — or out of it.” 


XIV 

I T was natural that after this there was a great 
change in Irma’s life. The almost cloistral 
quiet in which she had lived since her arrival in 
America became impossible after Camilla’s gay 
presence entered Argyle. It was not only that the 
latter brought with her a wholesome breath of the 
outer world, but Irma felt that to ask or expect her 
to share the seclusion in which she had herself con- 
tentedly existed was impossible. So for Camilla’s 
sake the doors of Argyle were once more opened 
in a social sense, and although the social occasions 
which followed were limited and quiet enough, it 
seemed to Irma as if she were launched upon a life 
full of engagements and excitements. 

309 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


As was to be expected, the youth in her revived 
under these circumstances, the power of enjoyment, 
and the gayety which had always been one of her 
distinguishing characteristics. Society became en- 
thusiastic over the charm of the young mistress of 
Argyle, but Camilla and Norbert simply recognized 
the girl whose blithesomeness had brightened the 
old house in Passy, where Gilbert Darracote had 
worked and philosophized and received his friends. 
It was no stranger, but the Irma of those old days, 
whom they found absolutely unchanged and untouched 
by the great change in her worldly position. 

To Norbert, as to Camilla, this was a lasting 
astonishment; for there is no surer proof of the 
importance assigned to the possession of wealth, 
even by those who fancy they do not overvalue it, 
than the surprise that these people feel when they 
find one whom it has no power to change. Norbert, 
with all the scorn of an artist and an idealist, would 
have repudiated for himself any love of money, and 
yet he was amazed that her inheritance had failed to 
affect Irma in the least. 

That it affected himself very much in one way 
was perhaps natural. The poor man who loves a 
rich woman must, if he is honestly disinterested, 
be acutely conscious of the barrier which her riches 
erect, and the suspicions they inevitably bring upon 
himself. Moreover, there are degrees in heiress- 
ship; and when Norbert put aside his more serious 
ambitions and seized the opportunity to win a facile 
and lucrative reputation by painting portraits, there 
is no doubt that his motive was to render himself 
an eligible suitor for the girl whom chance had 
310 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


suddenly placed, by the potency of money, so far 
above him. It was therefore a disappointment 
when he found that her fortune was much greater 
than he had fancied, — so great, indeed, that the 
most successful of artists could never hope to achieve 
by his art financial equality with her. 

It is possible that when this fact was fully brought 
to his apprehension he might have abandoned all 
thought of renewing his suit had not his ardor been 
stimulated by the most powerful of all means, — the 
presence of a rival in the field, and that rival one 
whom he felt sure it could not be for Irma’s happi- 
ness to marry. Nor was any extended acquaintance 
necessary for him to reach this decision. The 
antagonism which in the first moment that his eye 
fell upon Hastings sprang up in his mind was not 
lessened by anything in their after-intercourse. So 
far from that, it might have been said to deepen 
constantly, and with it his belief that Hastings had 
no other than a mercenary motive in the pretensions 
which his jealous eye quickly and clearly divined. 
The renewal of his own suit began under these cir- 
cumstances to assume almost the aspect of a duty, 
for was it not a duty to save Irma, if she possibly 
could be saved, from becoming the victim of one 
who sought her only for her fortune.^ It was char- 
acteristic of Norbert that he had not the least doubt 
on the last point, that he did not entertain for a 
moment the possibility of any sincerity of motive on 
the part of one who belonged to a class which he 
disliked and despised. 

In this view, and also in his own pretensions, he 
received enthusiastic support from Camilla. The 
311 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


latter had seized the situation immediately, and also 
immediately arrayed herself on the side of Norbert. 
This was not only because of her kindly feeling 
toward one who belonged, she said to herself, to 
her own world, but was also due to the fact that a 
marriage with him would keep Irma united to her old 
life and her old friends, whereas if she married 
Hastings it was certain that she would be in great 
measure lost to both. Now, apart from any question 
of affection, Camilla did not wish to lose hold of one 
able to do so much for her friends. Just now all 
was fair sailing with the impresarios and with the 
public; but there was always a chance that this 
might not last. Indeed, many accidents were pos- 
sible; and in case of such accidents how good to 
have a friend like Irma in the background ! In all 
this calculation she gave but a passing thought to 
the consideration of what was for Irma’s own happi- 
ness ; although she was not herself aware of the fact, 
and would have indignantly repudiated such a charge 
had it been made. 

“I don’t understand your procrastination,” she 
said impatiently to Norbert one day, as they 
walked together in the garden. “ If I were a man 
and loved a woman, I should waste no time in sigh- 
ing, but I would go and tell her so. Ma foi, why 
not.^ And what are you waiting for, anyway.? I 
am sure you have known Irma long enough and 
well enough for — for anything ! ” 

Norbert looked at the speaker with the shade of 
resentment with which he was rather accustomed to 
receive these peremptory admonitions and counsels. 

‘‘I am very grateful for your interest,” he said, 

3T2 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“but does n’t it occur to you that there are some 
things of which one can judge for oneself better 
than anybody else can judge for one?” 

« °ccur to me at all,” she replied, 

and I don t believe that it is true — nor that you 
are grateful for my interest, either. You should 
be, but people are generally anything except what 
they should be. If I were not thinking of Irma, 
rather than of you, I should transfer my interest to 
Mr. Hastings. He would at least be polite when I 
offered him advice.” 

“Oh, yes, he would certainly be polite,” Norbert 
agreed sarcastically. ‘‘But he would also cer- 
tainly intimate to you that he felt quite capable of 
managing his own affairs. If you are looking for 
gratitude, I would n’t advise you to transfer your 
interest to him. Now I am grateful, though I may 
not always seem so, and if I don’t follow your 
advice it is only because I am a coward. Don’t 
you see how it is? I have so much to lose if — if 
things go wrong.” 

“ I don’t see it at all. If things go wrong — that is, 
if Irma says she is extremely attached to you, but she 
cannot marry you — you are just where you are now. ” 
“That is all you know about itl” returned the 
young man, somewhat rudely. “ So far from being 
where I am now, I shall have lost all that makes the 
present so delightful, in spite of its uncertainty, — 
her friendship, her kindness, her intimacy.” 

“Is it possible that you think Irma would be 
changed to you?” Camilla asked with surprise. 

“No,” he answered, “I don’t think so. She 
would be just the same, and perhaps would expect 
3^3 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


that I should be also. But it would be impossible. 
Women can never understand that. I often wonder if 
they have no hearts, that they seem unable to compre- 
hend what the rejection of his love means to a man.” 

Perhaps lack of vanity, as well as lack of heart, 
has something to do with their obtuseness,” Camilla 
suggested. “ But we won’t argue the point, only — 
I believe you made a declaration to Irma in Paris, 
and you did n’t think it necessary to forswear her 
acquaintance because she did not reciprocate your 
sentiments.” 

“That was different; the whole situation was 
different. She did not really answer me, and then 
her father interfered, and insisted that I should 
promise not to speak to her again — at least not at 
that time. I remember well that he said, ‘After we 
have left France I lay no embargo on you. In the 
future, if you desire to do so, you may seek her and 
try your fortune again ’ — He was very kind,” the 
young man ended with softening voice. 

“He couldn’t possibly have been anything else,” 
said Camilla. “ I wonder if he had any idea of the 
money which was waiting for them. But it would n’t 
have made the least difference to him if he had, he 
would have told you to try your fortune all the same. 
And now that the future of which he spoke is here, 
and Irma is here, just as unchanged as he would 
have been, and you are here, I cannot see why you 
hesitate to try it.” 

“‘He either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small, 

Who dares not put it to the touch 
To win or lose it all,’ ” 

3U 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Norbert quoted. ^‘No doubt I fear my fate too 
much, and I know that my deserts are small, so you 
see there is reason enough for my fearing to put it 
to the touch.” 

Camilla stopped short, and faced round upon him 
with sudden energy. 

*^See here!” she said. ^‘All this is yourself, 
yourself, and again yourself I Do you not think of 
Irma at all } — Oh, you need not be offended and 
glower at me ! I mean just what I say. It is all 
pure selfishness. You are holding back, through 
fear of receiving a wound in your heart or your 
vanity, without considering her at all. And yet 
you should feel that you are here as a providential 
person. Do you think it would make' any differ- 
ence to me whether she married you or not if I did 
not believe that the choice lies between you and Mr. 
Hastings ? ” 

She flung out the question scornfully, caught her 
breath, and went on quickly: 

“Now the reason I say you are providential is 
because you possess the only thing which can pos- 
sibly prove stronger than his attractions, for he 
has certainly great attractions, and that is your 
hold on Irma through her affection and loyalty^ to 
the past. But instead of using this great advantage 
properly, instead of rushing like an old knight — I 
mean, a knight of the old time — to defend her and 
defeat him, here you are ^ fearing your fate too 
much,’ and all such selfish stuff. I have no patience 
with you — none ! ” 

“So it appears,” said Norbert, who was a little 
astonished by this outburst. He, too, stopped when 

315 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


she faced so suddenly upon him, and now stood with 
his hands in his pockets, regarding her. 

‘‘ It is not altogether true that I have been think- 
ing only of myself,” he said. “If it were so, I 
honestly believe that I should have gone away as 
soon as I saw and understood how rich she is. That 
was my first impulse. But then — without consider- 
ing that I had any providential part to play, it did 
occur to me that I might try my luck, even although 
she is so rich, because, if I succeeded, I should save 
her from that fellow, Hastings. To leave her to 
him without a struggle was more than I could do. 
And yet I have not much hope. She is as kind to 
me as ever, but not more so, and he — as you say, 
he has great attractions, such as fascinate women. 
To speak to her might be only to end everything, 
to be sent away — to leave the field open to him — ” 

The young fellow broke off in his disjointed yet 
sufficiently intelligible speech. His eyes met 
Camilla’s with an appeal which touched her and 
put an end to her impatience. She extended her 
hand and laid it on his arm with a very kind 
gesture. 

“I am a wretch,” she said, “to scold you, and 
accuse you of thinking only of yourself, when it 
seems you are thinking of Irma as much as I am. 
Eh bien^ let us now talk reasonably. This, you 
see, is a very serious matter. It is not merely a 
question of disappointing one man or another. 
That ” — she shrugged her shoulders — “ is the for- 
tune of war. It is a question of Irma’s whole life. 
For who knows her as we do? And we know that 
it would be the greatest misfortune which could 
316 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


befall her to marry this selfish, worldly, mercenary 
man, who would break her heart with no more con- 
sideration that he would crush a butterfly; and who 
would break it, too, without even knowing that he 
was breaking it, they are so different. She does n’t 
see this — poor Irma, she was always a dreamer! — 
but we see it and know it, and we must prevent it. 
We are her only friends, for these people here — 
pouf ! their friendship does not amount to that I ” — 
and Miss Vincent snapped her fingers — “ so we must 
enter into a league, and, if we can avoid it, we must 
make no false steps. Perhaps you are right, per- 
haps it is better not to risk anything by haste, yet I 
am afraid -r- there is no good in denying that I am 
very much afraid of this man, and I want to see his 
influence ended. ” 

“You cannot possibly want to see it ended as 
much as I do,” said Norbert, gloomily. “But how 
to end it — that is the question.” 

It was a question over which they shook their 
heads together, as they paced on in the springlike 
softness of the late afternoon. It was one of the 
days — there were many now — when Norbert, hav- 
ing given a few hours’ work to his picture of Mr. 
Hastings and his dogs, which was in progress at the 
cottage of the latter, had strolled over from Idlesse, 
as the place was called, to Argyle. In the hedge- 
enclosed spot which Irma always said reminded her 
of a nook in an Italian garden, he had found herself 
and Camilla, and there was a little of the inter- 
course he loved, when they three alone would talk 
of the past, of their artistic friends, of the chatter of 
the Paris studios, of their own ambitions and hopes 

317 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


— it was delightful, but it did not last. In these 
days it never lasted. First Hastings strolled up, 
with his dogs at his heels; then Mrs. Treherne 
came out from the house with Mrs. Lawton and 
Rapier, and finally Father Thorne joined the group, 
saying that as he was passing Argyle, feeling a little 
tired and thirsty, he thought he would drop in for a 
cup of tea. It was a pleasant little gathering, the 
more pleasant because wholly accidental, of people 
who, with the exception of Mrs. Treherne, were all 
more than ordinarily clever, but Norbert soon 
wearied of it. The talk fell upon topics in which 
he had no interest, — for his devotion to art was not 
only a narrow devotion, but his sympathies were 
further narrowed just now by a personal and absorb- 
ing passion. He did not very much care to be near 
Irma unless he could monopolize her attention; so 
he took his leave. Seeing the cloud which had 
come over him, Camilla rose also, volunteering to 
accompany him to the gates; and they walked away 
together. Mrs. Treherne had looked after them 
approvingly. 

‘‘That is a conjunction which strikes me as very 
appropriate,” she said to Hastings. “It would be a 
good thing if it became permanent.” 

“ A good thing for whom } ” he asked. “ Hardly, 
I think, for the persons concerned, and if not for 
them, for whom, then } ” 

Mrs. Treherne’s glance turned toward Irma. 

“Possibly,” she said, “for her. You are perhaps 
not aware that every one is talking of her intimacy 
with that young man — wherever I go I am assailed 
with questions — that her name is constantly asso- 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


dated with his. Anythmg that would remove him 
would be a good thing.” 

‘‘One might employ an assassin,” said Hastings, 
reflectively. “ Short of that, I confess I perceive 
no means of getting rid of him. And I really don’t 
think he is sufficiently dangerous to justify such 
extreme measures.” 

Mrs. Treherne showed her appreciation of this 
mockery by a flash of anger. 

“How exactly like you,” she said, “to take for 
granted that no one can be dangerous who is opposed 
to you! If it were not for — well, for some things 
which it is unnecessary to enter into, I shouH not be 
sorry if you had a lesson in the possibility of defeat.” 

He met her angry eyes with the composure which 
always had such power to exasperate her. 

“It is a very useful lesson,” he said, “and no 
man can be sure that he will not be forced to learn 
it — sometimes in the most unexpected manner and 
from adversaries whom he has despised.” 


XV 


HAT Irma herself was during this time alto- 



gether unconscious of the schemes, the 


various hopes and fears, of those around her, was not 
surprising. She was not thinking of herself. She 
was absorbed in the trifling events, the pleasant hap- 
penings of each day. And in her enjoyment of all 
that followed the arrival of Camilla and Norbert, 
she had almost forgotten that past episode when the 
latter had startled her by an avowal of passion 


319 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


altogether out of accord with their frank and friendly 
relations. It was part of her inexperience to fancy 
that what she had then said had ended any hope he 
might have entertained of possible return of this 
passion, and that henceforth their intercourse was 
to be on the former footing of good comradeship. 
Many hints of Camilla might have undeceived her, 
but to these hints she turned a deaf ear. It was so 
much easier to believe the thing she wished to 
believe than to lessen her pleasure in the society of 
this old friend and comrade by any sense of con- 
straint. And so to her, as to many another, fate 
came with noiseless tread, unseen and unsuspected. 
It was Norbert, of course, who finally gave the 
shock, the touch of reality, which wakened her from 
agreeable dreaming. And he gave it, not so much 
in obedience to Camilla’s urging, nor yet from the 
deeper urging of his own passion, as from one of 
those impulses which seem to lie outside of will, 
and certainly outside of premeditation. 

It chanced in this wise: On another day when 
he left Idlesse and strolled over to Argyle, he had 
what he felt to be the rare good fortune of finding 
Irma alone. She was not in the garden this after- 
noon, but in the library, and as he was shown in she 
rose from her seat before a writing-desk. 

Have you ever thought of the exact significance 
of the word ‘ welcome ’ ? ” she asked gayly. “ It 
occurs to me at this moment how appropriate it is 
that I should say to you, ‘ Well come ! ’ For you 
come very well, very opportunely, to give me an 
excuse to leave some tiresome accounts. Sit down 
and I will ring for tea.” 


320 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


With a sigh of satisfaction Norbert obeyed. This 
was just what he would have asked had he been 
bidden to express his desires as he walked over to 
Arygle: the quiet of the beautiful flower-scented 
room, no one present beside Irma, and a cup of fra- 
grant tea given by her hands and sweetened by the 
glances of her eyes. 

“ What a pleasure it is to find you without a circle 
of people around you ! ” he said. “ I have begun to 
think of late that, like royalty, you would always 
have a court about you. ” 

“Do you call Camilla, and sometimes Mrs. Tre- 
herne, and occasionally one or two other people, a 
court.?” she asked. “I have thought our little 
gatherings were very pleasant, and that you enjoyed 
them like the rest of us.” 

“So I have,” he made haste to say; “but I enjoy 
still more finding you alone. It is like having a 
good thing all to oneself or sharing it with others, 
and I confess I am selfish enough to desire to have 
my good things unshared.” 

“But the society of a friend is something which 
can be shared without any loss,” Irma said. 

“Do you think so.?” he returned. “I am afraid 
that only shows that you have never valued any- 
thing of the kind in the way I mean.” 

“You are not very flattering,” she said. “As a 
matter of fact, ‘ I count myself in nothing else so 
happy as in a soul remembering my good friends ; ’ 
and, I may add, valuing them.” 

“ Good friends ! ” he repeated, a little impatiently. 
“Oh, yes! you are faithful and kind in remember- 
ing your friends ; nobody knows that better than I. 

21 321 


WEIGHED IN TEIE BALANCE 

But to value the society of one person so much that 
you cannot endure to share it with any one else — 
you do not know what that is.’* 

There was a moment’s pause. A quick, intui- 
tive sense told Irma that the conversation touched a 
dangerous point. She was glad of the diversion of 
the tea at this moment. 

“It strikes me as a very selfish sentiment,” she 
said, as she gave him his cup, “and I cannot regret 
that I do not know what it is. But let us talk of 
something else. What have you been doing to-day.? 
Making studies of Mr. Hastings and his dogs.? ” 

“Exactly; only the studies have been made in 
different ways. The dogs are noble creatures, and 
I enjoy painting them; but the man is a very subtle 
subject. In order to preserve my reputation for 
portraiture of character, I have been endeavoring to 
study him, and I find much which it will be diffi- 
cult to express.” 

Irma looked up with interest. 

“ Mr. Hastings is not what one would call a simple 
character, but he does not strike me as very com- 
plex,” she observed. 

“That is just what he is, however,” said Norbert, 
with decision. “He has not only a complex char- 
acter, but one which is made up of so many contra- 
dictory qualities that they attract and repel in equal 
degree. He paused a moment, but Irma did not 
speak; and he went on: “What attract are certain 
qualities of brilliancy and generosity; and what 
repel are the cynicism and thorough materialism of 
the man.” 

Perhaps you don t know Mr. Hastings very 
322 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


well,” said Irma, with a quick rush of color to her 
cheeks. “ I have seen a great deal of him since I 
came here, and I have never discovered any signs 
of cynicism or materialism.” 

“Have you looked for them very closely.^ ” Nor- 
bert inquired significantly. “ Believe me they are 
easily to be found, although Mr. Hastings is not 
likely to obtrude them on you.” 

“And why not on me as well as on others.^ ” she 
asked, in something of a challenging tone. 

Their eyes met. The moment had come for 
frankness. To Norbert, at least, reticence was no 
longer possible. The very look in those eyes — 
such a look as he had never seen in them before — 
warned him that, if he was ever to speak, now was 
the time to do so. 

“Surely,” he said, “you don’t ask that question 
in earnest } Surely you must know, what every one 
else knows, that Mr. Hastings wishes to marry the 
heiress of the Darracote fortune, and therefore is 
not likely to show any side of his character which 
would make success in that end more difficult.” 

Irma had a sense of almost physical pain, as if 
she had been struck a cruel blow by a friendly hand, 
or at least a hand which she had fancied friendly. 
Indignation overpowered her, and for an instant she 
was conscious of a suffocating inability to speak. 
She put her hand to her throat, as she looked at 
Norbert. 

“ I could not have imagined you were capable of 
speaking in such a manner ! ” she said at length. 
“It is shameful to make such charges, to impute 
such motives. What do you know of Mr. Hastings? 

323 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


And if you knew more, how could you venture to 
sit in judgment on his character, his sincerity? 
It is shameful ! ” she repeated with a passionate 
intonation. 

“ It is never shameful to speak the truth,” Norbert 
answered, stung by her tone and look; ^‘and what I 
have told you is the truth. This man is your suitor 
because you are a rich woman. He would not be 
your suitor if you were again — as I would to God 
might be possible ! — the Irma Darracote whom I 
knew and loved in Paris. If you don’t believe 
this, it can only be because you are as blind to his 
motives as to his character. And for that character, 
if you could know how steeped he is in cynicism, in 
materialism, in absolute lack of faith toward man 
or toward God — ” 

“And when havej/{?// gained such faith in either 
that you can venture to criticise another for lack of 
it ? ” she asked. 

“If I have not gained faith,” he said, “I have at 
least gained, through you, the knowledge of what 
faith should be. But this man has not even that, 
— he does not believe in the possibility of unselfish- 
ness in man nor of existence for God.” 

“And this,” she said, with scorn vibrating in her 
voice, “is your return to him for his aid to you, his 
kindness, his generosity ! ” 

The artist drew himself up quickly and proudly. 

“I have no need of Mr. Hastings’ aid,” he 
answered; “and for his kindness and generosity — 
do you think I do not understand that these things 
are merely bids for your favor? He knew that it 
would please you if he showed me some patronage, 

324 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and so the patronage came. And I accepted it — 
shall I tell you why.? Simply in order that I might 
study him, gauge him, learn what manner of man 
he is. For” — his voice broke into appeal — “it 
cannot be that it is too late: that you have given 
him your heart ! ” 

“What is it to you.? ” Irma demanded. Her head 
was thrown back with a defiant air such as he had 
never seen in her before; her eyes were shining, 
her whole aspect had a vivid beauty which caught 
and fascinated his artistic sense. “You take a 
great liberty,” she went on. “You have no right 
to' speak to me in this manner.” 

“Right! — no, I have no right,” he replied with 
sudden humility. “I love you with all my heart 
and soul, but that gives no right. For myself I 
have no hope. I see that I am no nearer to gaining 
your heart than when you turned from me in Paris. 
But I would do anything on earth to save you from 
this man, who thinks only of your fortune, and who 
has not a single high or spiritual quality in his 
nature to answer to your own.” 

Irma sank back in her chair. She was now quite 
pale. 

“I think,” she said, “that I have heard enough. 
Will you go away now.? To discuss such subjects 
as these is impossible, and I will try to forget — ” 

“No,” said Norbert, with sudden violence. He 
leaned forward, and, before she could prevent him, 
seized the hand that lay on the arm of her chair, 
holding it in the tight clasp of both his own. “ No,” 
he repeated, “don’t try to forget anything. On 
the contrary, remember everything that I have said; 

325 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and think of all that it means if you surrender 
your heart and your soul to such a man as this of 
whom we have spoken. And believe that I have 
had no motive in anything which I have said except 
the motive of warning, of saving you. For myself, 
I repeat again that I have no hope; and all that I 
ask is to be able to do you the service of giving you 
one man’s love by which to test another man’s — 
professions.” 

He broke off abruptly, kissed the hand which he 
held passionately, almost roughly, and, rising, 
walked out of the room. 


XVI 


you the service of giving you one man's love 
M ^ "^hich to test another man s — professions. 
These words rang in Irma’s ears as she sat alone, 
after the sound of Norbert’s footsteps had died away, 
and silence again gathered about her in the stately 
room. Her pulses were beating with a rush that 
made itself felt over her whole body; her breath 
came short and quick; the hand which Norbert had 
held and kissed clinched itself as if for a blow. A 
passion of indignation shook her from head to foot. 
“ How dared he ! — how dared he ! ” she repeated to 
herself again and again. How dared he make him- 
self a standard of sincerity by which to try another, 
whom he ventured to accuse of insincerity ! How 
dared he come and attempt to disturb her faith in 
a friend whose friendship had already meant so 
326 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

much to her, and who day by day entered more 
deeply, more necessarily into her life ! 

Every instinct of her nature resented the suspicions 
suggested to her. For there are characters so essen- 
tially loyal, so integrally sincere, so absolutely devoid 
of the qualities from which the poison of suspicion 
springs, that to believe ill of those whom they have 
once trusted is to them almost impossible. This was 
so much the case with Irma that, so far from waken- 
ing in her mind any real doubt of Hastings’ sincerity, 
Norbert had only roused all the force* of generous 
loyalty which filled the girl’s soul like a passion. 
She would have scorned herself had she been ready 
to heed anything which impugned the good faith of 
one who had given her no reason to distrust him. 
And she was more angry than she had ever before 
in her life been conscious of being with the man 
who, not content with forcing his own love upon 
her, ventured to declare that another man had only 
interested motives in all that he professed, or might 
yet profess, of friendship or deeper attachment. 

‘‘ It was base ! ” she said, bringing her hand down 
violently on the arm of her chair. And then sud- 
denly anger and indignation gave way to a sense of 
the deep wound she had received, — a wound deeper 
and more cruel in that it came from the hand of a 
friend. With an insupportable realization of how 
entirely her life was without any strong and stable 
foundation of assured affection on which she might 
rely, she bent her head down on the open desk be- 
side her and gave way to passionate weeping. 

The sobs which shook her from head to foot were 
not loud, but they rendered her unaware of the 

327 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


opening of the door of the room ; and they struck 
immediately and painfully on the ear of Hastings, 
who, according to his now familiar custom, entered 
unannounced. 

He paused, uncertain whether to retreat without 
making his presence known or to advance. He had 
little doubt that the first would have been the proper 
thing to do ; but, for once, doing the proper thing 
seemed of far less importance than making an effort 
to learn the cause of this grief, and perhaps comfort- 
ing it. So, after that brief, involuntary pause, he 
walked quickly across the room, and, giving himself 
no time to think, laid a gentle clasp on the hands 
thrown above the dark, bowed head. 

“ Forgive me,” he said, as Irma lifted herself with 
a start, “ but I cannot help asking what it is that dis- 
tresses you so much?” 

To the girl who had neither seen nor heard him 
enter, there was something so strange in his sudden 
appearance, in that unexpected pressure of the hand, 
and in the gaze of solicitude bent upon her, that she 
had a momentary sense, as if her need had sum- 
moned him and he was there to reassure and comfort. 
She looked at him with an absolute unconsciousness 
of her brimming eyes and tear-stained face. 

“ How did you come here? ” she asked. 

“ In the simplest manner possible,” he replied. 
‘‘I walked in, feeling quite sure that I should find the 
usual group gathered here for tea, and instead I find 
you alone and in deep distress. Perhaps I should 
have gone away without disturbing you. But- how 
could I? It was impossible to see you in such grief 
without asking if I could do nothing to relieve it.” 

328 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

His tone was full of the most earnest apology. 
But, had he only known it, no apology was neces- 
sary; for his presence brought to Irma a wonderful 
consciousness of ease and relief. How or why this 
was so she could not have told ; she only knew that 
the fact that he stood beside her, looking at her with 
an expression of tenderness and concern which he 
made no effort to disguise, filled her with a sense of 
well-being, of confidence so complete that her pain 
of a few minutes earlier seemed altogether fantastic 
and unreal. 

“ I have been very foolish,” she said. “ Believe 
me, it is not often that I am foolish — in this way.” 

I am quite sure of it,” he replied ; but such 
distress — forgive me! — must have had a deeper 
cause than merely that you were ‘ foolish,’ which is 
a statement I beg leave to discredit.” 

“ You need not discredit it, for what could be 
more foolish than to be hurt and angered by as- 
sertions, insinuations — words merely, without proof? 
And it was that I suffered myself to be.” 

‘^What has more power to hurt and anger than 
just those things, — assertions, insinuations, words 
without proof? ” he asked. As he spoke, he sat 
down opposite her in the chair which Norbert had 
occupied. “Sometimes,” he said, “there is relief 
in speaking of what has troubled and annoyed one. 
If it would relieve you to speak of the things which 
have distressed you, remember that we are friends 
by a very solemn covenant of friendship, and that 
you may trust my discretion and my sympathy.” 

“ I have not forgotten our covenant of friendship,” 
she answered ; “ and I do not doubt either your 

329 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


discretion or your sympathy. But why should I 
trouble you with what is unworthy of attention? 
Some things are very intangible when one attempts 
to describe them. I can only say that the air about 
me seemed filled with things which I detest — ugly 
shadows of suspicion, unworthy beliefs, low stand- 
ards. I seemed drawn toward the hateful point — 
which many people call worldly wisdom — of finding 
nothing in which to trust with the absoluteness that 
alone makes trust of value. Ideas had been sug- 
gested to me which I scorned, and yet they made 
me unhappy. Not, you will understand,” — and she 
looked at him with an air of earnest pleading for 
comprehension, — because I entertained them, but 
because I felt their injustice, and because they made 
me realize with great force how entirely alone in the 
world I am, with no one of whose affection I can 
say, ' Here I may rest ; here no shadow of doubt, no 
fear of any interested motive, can enter.’ ” 

The perfect simplicity of her manner, the perfect 
sincerity of her tone, made Hastings feel that in thus 
speaking out her thoughts with almost childlike 
openness she had for the moment forgotten what an 
appeal to himself her words contained, and what an 
opening they afforded for a declaration of disinterest- 
edness on his part. It is doubtful whether he would 
have taken advantage of anything so obvious, even 
had she given him an opportunity to do so; but after 
an instant she went on : 

“ That is why I have always disliked this wealth 
which came to me so unexpectedly. If my father had 
lived, all would have been different. I should not only 
have wanted nothing and nobody beside him, but his 

330 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

wisdom would have been a sure guide, and his love ” 

Her voice failed and she stopped for a moment. 

But he was taken away just when my need was 
greatest, and since what God does is always best, I 
can only suppose that it was His will I should be 
taught to stand alone. But I learn my lesson very 
badly; and while loneliness is hard to bear, I find 
something even harder, -- something which is unbear- 
able; and that is the constant suggestion that I mpst 
distrust every sentiment which is offered me, and 
every attachment which might sweeten life. Do you 
wonder that, considering this, I feel sometimes as if 
I must cast away the burden, — as if I must find some 
way of ridding myself of the money which seems to 
poison the thoughts of every one around me? ” 

There was an accent in her voice which went to the 
heart of the man listening to her, — a revelation which 
touched him more deeply than words can readily 
express. Up to this time he had considered very 
lightly all that she had said regarding her inheritance 
and the burden which it laid upon her. It is difficult 
for the most unworldly to take seriously a trouble 
which is based upon the possession of too much 
wealth; and Hastings made no pretensions to un- 
worldliness. While never doubting the sincerity of 
what she expressed, he had smiled over it as over 
something fanciful and unreal. But now he saw that 
it possessed a reality of the most undoubted kind, and 
that it was a trouble which, for one of her nature, 
struck at the very root of all that makes life of 
value. 

In his sudden comprehension of this, — in the 
opening, as it were, of the eyes of his soul which 

331 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


had hitherto been closed, — he did not think of him- 
self; but if he had done so, he would have received 
one of those revelations which come to us now and 
again in life, making us feel as if the person of whom, 
after all, we know least is the mysterious being called 
ego. What process of change or development had 
been going on within him during the period of his 
association with one whom he had first approached 
in a spirit of sufficiently cold calculation, it is impos- 
sible to say. These processes are imperceptible, and 
we only learn of them at last by their result. It was 
such a result which forced itself upon Hastings now, 
when, with all thought of the Darracote fortune far 
removed from his mind, he felt only the imperative 
need to give the woman he loved the assurance of 
his devotion. 

“ No,” he said gently, in answer to her last words, 
“ I do not wonder that you feel in this manner. But 
are you not falling into something of the same error 
as those you condemn? — are you not giving an 
importance to your wealth which it does not deserve? 
For some people the whole world is moved and 
swayed entirely by mercenary motives; but we know 
what to think of such people: we know that they 
attribute to others only the sentiments of which they 
are capable themselves — ” 

Not always, she interposed. Misjudgment may 
spring from other motives ; sometimes those who are 
least mercenary may suspect — may be led to believe 
things which are unworthy — ” 

She faltered and paused, but Hastings understood 
what she wished to express ; he knew that it was of 
Norbert she was thinking, Norbert whom she wished 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


to excuse. He made a slight gesture of indifference; 
for, as a matter of fact, the artist had not been in his 
mind at all, although he was aware that Irma had seen 
him, that he had left her very shortly before his own 
arrival, and that something which he had said was the 
immediate cause of her distress. What that might 
have been, however, was to Hastings a matter of no 
importance. He could readily imagine all that a 
jealous lover under such circumstances would say, 
and disdainfully gave him the credit for sincerity 
which he deserved. 

“ Let us not speak of other people, then,” he said, 
in a tone as indifferent as his gesture. “ There is really 
no need to do so; for whatever their motives may 
have been matters nothing. That there is such a thing 
as disinterested affection I am sure you do not for a 
moment doubt, and you cannot be so blind as not to 
be aware that you are peculiarly fitted to inspire it. 
Even a hardened man of the world ” — he smiled a 
little — “ might become as unmercenary as a hero of 
romance by the simple magic of knowing and loving 
you. For to know you is to love you, — at least I 
have found it so. When we first met I had not the 
faintest expectation of falling in love with you. The 
thing itself seemed something as long forgotten as a 
dream of boyhood, and no more to be hoped for than 
a miracle. I was interested in you, and honestly 
determined to be your friend. But love, — I could 
not have imagined it possible. And yet the miracle, 
the impossible, has come to pass. I find myself loving 
you with a passion which grows with every day, and 
the greatest happiness I can hope for is that you will 
suffer my love to become that support for your life, 
333 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and that rest for your heart, of the want of which you 
have spoken so sadly.” 

The quiet, restrained tones ceased, but Irma did 
not answer. It was, he saw at a glance, the strong 
reaction of emotion which held her speechless. 
Leaning back in the tall, carved chair, she looked 
almost like a statue: white, silent, her dark-lashed 
eyes cast down, her hands clasped together in her lap. 
She scarcely seemed to breathe as Hastings went on : 

You see, I am not in the least afraid of any mis- 
judgment from you ; in fact, I should not even allude 
to the possibility of such a thing but for what has 
gone before. Of course I understand that I have 
been the special mark for the suggestions which have 
wounded you, but I know you too well to believe that 
you heeded them — ” 

The dark eyes suddenly lifted now with a glance at 
once proud and sweet. 

“ I never gave them even an instant’s heed,” Irma 
said. 

His look thanked her eloquently. 

I was quite sure of it. And I know that whether 
or not you can accept what I offer, — which is the 
devotion and service of my life, — you will not doubt 
my sincerity; and therefore your faith in the pos- 
sibility of a disinterested love may be revived and 
strengthened by this assurance of mine. I shall be 
happy to do even so much as this for you, — if I can 
do no more.” 

His voice dropped over the last words with a ques- 
tioning accent, while his gaze still held her own. But 
there was little need of questioning ; for there was no 
mistaking the nature of the change which came over 
334 









PH 







‘‘ 'The quiet, restrained tones ceased, but Inna did 
not answer.” 




1 ^ ' ’ 


. f 




i'. 


/ 


• * ' 

9 


tit 


■ K 


. . * 


I ♦ 




?V 

r 


.. ) 


r. ^ 


tk 

•'1 < 

* i 


« 

i 


« 

. * 


I ^ 


• » 


' 1 

« 


t - 


V‘ 




I y 


. « 

■ * V ■«„ 

./ 


r i 


V * 

7 ■•'''' 


^ .■ 


»-.• ‘ 




■f; • ■< 


« « 

• t 


• V 

■ * •. 




f. • . I '• 




V, 


K 


4 ' 



. •■ • -’fc • 


I I 


V '■ 

• I . 




V 

* n 


V . 


• * '• > 


I I 


I • 


' J. 


r 


I . 


1 1 




^ • • 

^ <• 


i 


“jf 


-i.;- 

/•; I- 


* t 


.» / 


> . a-v 







• I 


( . 




( 

•' • 


-• 


• ». 





» 4 


i 






4 


* V# 


.Atf*9!#*iikii 


< 


I*. 




WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Irma’s face. By a transformation as sudden as it was 
wonderful, every sign of distress vanished ; the ex- 
quisite lips smiled, the eyes shone with a radiance 
like the lighting of lamps. Dreams, doubts, fears 
were over. Psyche wakened to her heritage of joy, 
unmindful of that other heritage of pain which is for- ^ 
ever linked with it. Hastings fairly caught his breath 
as the beautiful face, with such a light as he had never 
seen on it before, bent toward him. 

“ But you can do more, — much more ! ” she 
whispered. 


335 


BOOK IV 

THE AWAKENING OF PSYCHE 

I 


O IRMA, I could not — I would not believe it if 
you did not tell me yourself! ” 

It was Camilla who spoke, in a tone of such intense 
dismay and disappointment that it fell with chilling 
effect upon Irma’s ear. It had never occurred to her 
that she could not reckon upon Camilla’s sympathy 
in her happiness, — Camilla, who alone belonged to 
her, not only by ties of past association but by the 
deeper ties of blood. However, there was no mis- 
taking either the words or the tone of deep dis- 
approval; and in an instant Irma understood that 
sympathy was to be denied to her even here. 

The light — and a very sweet and tender light it 
was — faded out of her face as she looked at the 
figure standing before her with an air of almost 
tragic protest. 

“ And why,” she asked quietly, “ would you not 
believe it?” 

Camilla made one of those dramatic motions with 
which the Southern races express so much. 

“ Why not 1 ” she repeated. “ Because I could 
never have imagined that you would think of marry- 
ing a man who is as cold as — as an iceberg, and who 
cares for nothing but your fortune.” 

336 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


It was the fate of Irma, as it is of most people 
of great outward gentleness and sweetness of nature, 
occasionally to astonish those who inadvertently 
drew forth a hidden fire of the existence of which 
they were ignorant. A flash of this fire had scorched 
Norbert, and another flash now startled Camilla. 

“How do you venture to say such things?” she 
asked, in a tone of sudden, passionate indignation. 
“ What do you know of Mr. Hastings that you can be 
certain that he cares for nothing but my fortune? ” 

Camilla drew back a step. She could scarcely 
believe that it was Irma who had spoken, Irma who 
was looking at her with those flashing eyes. 

“ Have I made you angry? ” she asked, in a tone 
the wonder of which was for that astonishing fact. 
“I thought that I might speak — the truth.” 

“ The truth ! ” Irma echoed. “ What right have 
you to call your opinions the truth? You may 
believe them to be true, but that is a very different 
thing from their being so.” 

“ There is nobody who would not agree with me,” 
cried Camilla, thus put upon her defence. “ Every- 
body knows — even I, a stranger, have heard it on 
all sides — that it was fully understood before you 
came that Mr. Hastings was to marry the Darracote 
heiress. People even say that it was arranged be- 
tween himself and the old man who died. It was 
a thing fully understood and expected. But I laughed 
when it was talked of to me. ‘ Oh, you will see ! ’ 
I said. ‘ Mr. Hastings may be irresistible to most 
women, but he will not prove irresistible to Miss 
Darracote. A blas^ man of society is not likely to 
fascinate her. She has known real men; she has 
337 


22 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

been brought up in a world where money did not 
rule everything, but where men had higher ambi- 
tions, higher ideals ; and she will never be deceived 
by anything that Mr. Hastings may profess to offer 
her, — you can be sure of that.’ And yet now you 
tell me that you have been fascinated, that you are 
deceived by professions which deceive nobody else, 
and that you are going to marry this man who is 
thinking only of your money and not of yourself.” 

She flung the words out with biting emphasis, 
more intent, more eager, upon making good her 
point, upon telling Irma what she was sure no one 
save herself would venture to tell her, than upon 
observing the effect of her assertions. When she 
paused, however, she was struck and startled by this 
effect, — by the strange whiteness of the familiar 
face and the deepening fire in the splendid eyes under 
the dark, straight brows. They were alone together in 
Irma’s room, filled with a soft glow of mingled firelight 
and shaded lamplight, all its pretty luxury suggestive 
of pleasant things, the room in which they had sat 
night after night at this hour, talking gayly and unre- 
strainedly of the events of the day, the people they had 
met, perhaps of the past or sometimes of the future, but 
always as f^riends whose intimacy could know neither 
change nor shadow. And now — how great a change, 
how deep a shadow, lay between them as they faced 
each other on the white fur rug before the rosy fire ! ” 

“ And this is the effect of money ! ” Irma said. 

This — to poison the mind so that it has no belief 
in human sincerity ! Do yoii^ then, value me only 
for what I possess, that you so unhesitatingly charge 
another person with mercenary intentions?” 

33S 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ I ! ” cried Camilla. The blood rushed to her 
face, — was it perhaps because in her inmost soul 
she knew that Irma had acquired an added value in 
her eyes from her great possessions? “I don’t 
think that I need answer that question,” she said, 
throwing up her head. “ The past should answer it 
for me, — the past when you had no fortune nor any 
thought of one.” 

“ And if in that past, when I had no fortune, you 
and — a few others found something in me to love, 
why is it impossible to believe that I can now win any 
affection which is disinterested? ” Irma asked, a note 
of unconscious pathos coming into the tones of her 
voice. 

“But no one does — no one could think so!” 
Camilla cried. “ Of course you are as capable of 
winning disinterested affection now as you were then. 
What is impossible is to believe that Mr. Hastings 
offers you such an affection.” 

“ I don’t see that the nature of Mr. Hastings’ 
affection concerns any one beside myself,” Irma 
returned proudly; “but, as a matter of curiosity, I 
should like to know what reason you have for mak- 
ing such a charge against the honor and good faith 
of a man of whom you know very little?” 

“ I know enough to be sure of what I have said,” 
Camilla replied. “ The first moment that I saw Mr. 
Hastings I recognized to what class he belonged, — 
the class of men who are cynical and worldly to the 
core. Good Heavens ! ” — there was no doubting 
the girl’s earnest sincerity, — have not I cause to 
know them? Do you think a woman could be on 
the stage even as short a time as I have been and not 
339 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


recognize such a man at a glance? If Mr. Hastings 
or any one like him made any profession of attach- 
ment to me, I should simply laugh at him ; I should 
understand what it meant. But you, O my poor 
Irma ! the trouble is that you have no knowledge 
whatever of such men. No nun in her cloister could 
possibly know less. For it was almost like a cloister, 
the studio of the dear father, who was always preach- 
ing ideals too high for this world. One might have 
foreseen how it would be when you went out into the 
real world. You would think everybody had stand- 
ards like his, and so you would fall a victim to 
some schemer who could profess everything and feel 
nothing.” 

With a gesture of hopelessness the speaker fell 
again into the chair from which she had risen when 
Irma first made the announcement of her news. She 
threw herself back, her arms above her head. 

“ If only you could have cared for poor Norbert ! ” 
she said, with something like a groan. It seems 
so strange that you could n’t. He is an artist, he 
is full of all kinds of ideals and fancies, and he 
loves you passionately — and honestly.” 

The last word, with all that it implied, stung Irma 
afresh ; again the flash of indignation came into her 
dark eyes. 

“ And the only reason you have to give for your 
charge of insincerity against Mr. Hastings is that he 
reminds you of certain other men whom you have 
known ! ” she said. “ Is it possible that you don’t see 
the shallowness of such a judgment? But whether 
you do or not is a matter of no importance — ” 

“ My judgment may be shallow and of no impor- 

340 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


tance,” Camilla interrupted, “ but how about that of 
others? Ask your friend Mrs. Royal Smith what she 
thinks of Mr. Hastings. I am sure you will find that 
she thinks just as I do. And if you want to know 
still more, ask Mrs. Treherne. There is n’t the least 
doubt but that she could give you some very inter- 
esting information.” 

To the credit of Camilla, it may be stated that the 
last part of her speech was entirely unpremeditated 
and drawn forth by the disdain in Irma’s eyes, which 
did not lessen at the mention of Mrs. Royal Smith. 
Well, — such was the quick, unconscious thought in 
the mind of the speaker — if she would heed nothing 
less than the whole truth, let her have it. With her 
natural shrewdness quickened by dislike, the girl had 
soon divined something of Mrs. Treherne’s attitude 
toward Hastings; and then a question or two dis- 
creetly put to new acquaintances had drawn forth 
enough of ancient history to justify conclusions which 
came exceedingly near the truth. 

“ The woman both loves and hates him,” Camilla 
had thought, having surprised very significant gleams 
in Mrs. Treherne’s eyes ; “ but for some reason she 
is anxious to hand Irma over to him. As for him, it 
is hard to say whether or not he cares at all for her, 
— sometimes I have seen him look at her as if he 
quite despised her, — but, of course, the only point 
of any importance with him is the fortune. It is a 
very good thing that Norbert. and I have come in 
time to disappoint them both.” 

For of the power of herself and Norbert to disap- 
point them, Camilla entertained little doubt until 
Irma’s announcement of her engagement to Hastings 

341 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


had come upon her like a thunderbolt. Naturally 
she had not been able to restrain the expression of 
her disapproval and disappointment, and of the 
opinions on which these sentiments were based. But 
she had never meant to mention Mrs. Treherne. The 
tongue, however, as we know, is an unruly member, 
and almost before she knew what she was doing the 
look in Irma’s eyes had drawn forth her last words. 

Whatever their remote effect might be, their im- 
mediate effect was only to intensify the expression 
which had exasperated her. 

Do you think,” said Irma, in a tone of infinite 
scorn, “that the opinion of Mrs. Royal Smith or 
anything which Mrs. Treherne could say would make 
me doubt one to whom I have given faith and ” — she 
paused an instant — “love? For surely you under- 
stand that it is final when one gives these things. 
They are not to be taken back. If, by any chance, 
it should be proved that one had given them amiss, 
then ” — she, on her part, now made a dramatic 
Italian gesture — “shipwreck might come, but one 
could not regain what has passed out of one’s posses- 
sion. All that would be left then would be to suffer. 
But I have no fear of that,” she said proudly. “ You 
judge Mr. Hastings, with worldly knowledge, from 
the outside. I, who have no worldly knowledge, — 
and, God knows, do not desire it, seeing what it 
makes of people, — I know him as he is within. You 
do not believe this : you think that I am blinded by 
his fascinations and deceived by his protestations; 
and I shall not condescend to attempt to make you 
think otherwise. You must believe what you please 
of him and of me. But after to-night I will never 

342 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


hear another word like those you have spoken. For 
the sake of our old friendship I have listened to them 
once, but I will never listen again. Henceforth who- 
ever attacks his honor or his sincerity attacks mine. 
There is no difference.” 

The quiet tones, with their accent of indescribable 
loftiness, ceased ; and Camilla sat motionless, lost in 
amazement. Again she asked herself, was this Irma, 
— this ? The old truth, old as humanity and trite as 
human experience, that we know nothing of each 
other until under the stress of some strong emotion 
the true, inner self is revealed, came to her with 
the force of revelation. What had the Irma she 
had known, the gentle, charming girl, who always 
yielded so exquisitely to the least pressure or claim 
from those to whom she was attached, what had 
that Irma in common with this woman, in whom the 
deep fountains of passion had been opened, and with 
whom loyalty found such proud expression? It was 
a marvellous awakening, — a marvellous revelation 
of that mighty power of love, which is God’s greatest 
instrument to melt and mould, to torture, to enrapture, 
and to purify the hearts of men and women. 


II 

N ORBERT was standing in his studio with a 
very moody and abstracted air, — not paint- 
ing but only mixing some colors on his palette, — 
when a knock at the door made him start and frown. 
He turned sharply, and the frown did not disappear 
when he saw Camilla. 


343 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Miss Vincent nodded easily as she advanced into 
the room. She was dressed charmingly and seemed 
in the best of spirits. 

“ Good-morning ! ” she said. Since I have heard 
nothing of any sittings lately, I thought I had better 
call and inquire what has become of my portrait.” 

The artist looked at her for an instant without reply- 
ing. Then he pointed to a corner of the room where 
some canvases stood with faces turned to the wall. 

There it is,” he said briefly. 

Camilla lifted her eyebrows, whether at the fact or 
his manner did not appear, walked over to the can- 
vases, and turned first one and then another around 
until she found her own unfinished portrait. With 
this in her hand she returned to where he still stood 
by the large easel, mixing his colors. 

“Now,” she said, setting the picture on a chair, “ I 
want to know the meaning of this. What have / done 
that you should treat me in such a manner? You 
took a commission to paint this portrait; and, since 
I am limited in time, it was agreed that you should 
do it at once. Yet, after having heard nothing from 
you for a fortnight, I come and find it thrown aside 
in a half-finished state.” 

Again the young man did not answer immediately, 
but now he kept his eyes fixed on his palette. It 
was without raising them that he presently said, in a 
reluctant tone : 

“ I should have let you know. I have decided to 
give up the commission. I am giving up all that I 
can, in order to leave this place as soon as possible.” 

Camilla regarded him with a very contemptuous 
expression. 


344 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ If you do, you will act like a fool and a coward,” 
she said concisely. “ Yes,” — as he glanced up at 
her angrily, — “ that is very plain speech, I know. 
But sometimes plain-speaking is necessary. It is like 
knocking a man down to bring him to his senses. 
And I mean exactly what I say. You will be a fool 
if you throw up all your prospects here, just when 
success is assured, to go to some place where 
you will have to begin over again, without the 
advantages — ” 

He interrupted her impatiently. 

“ But suppose I desire to be rid of what you call 
advantages — that is, of fashionable patronage and 
all that accompanies it? I shall give up painting the 
portraits of rich people, and go back to Bohemia and 
be an artist again.” 

“ Of course you can be as foolish as you like,” she 
replied with crisp disdain ; “ but please allow me to 
finish what I was saying. You will also be a coward 
if you run away before you are defeated.” 

He stared at her with wonder overcoming the 
anger in his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. “You know 
well that I am defeated. What is there left to fight 
for when — when — ” 

“ When Irma is engaged to marry Mr. Hastings? ” 
said Camilla, calmly supplying the words over which 
he faltered. “ In my opinion, there is a good deal. 
Engagements may be broken, you know. Such 
things have been heard of.” 

She paused ; but, since Norbert only continued to 
stare at her without replying, she went on : 

“ It was about this I came to talk to you. There 
345 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

is reason to hope that something of the kind may 
occur, — not at once, perhaps, but eventually, — and I 
frankly confess that I would^do anything in my power 
to bring it about. I thought that I might count on 
you to help, but if you are on the point of running 
away — ” 

She broke off, as Norbert made a step toward her. 

“What do you mean?” he repeated. “I don’t 
like hints and innuendoes, perhaps because I am 
too stupid to understand them. You must speak 
plainly if you want anything from me.“ 

“ So I perceive,” she said. “ You are stupid, — there 
is n’t a doubt of that. Well, I will try to make things 
clear to you. But, first, we are not in Bohemia now, 
you know, and the proprieties must be considered. 
You will therefore please understand that I have 
come to give you a sitting. Put that portrait on the 
easel, while I call Margherita, whom I left below in 
the carriage. She does not understand English, so 
we can talk freely before her, while at the same time 
Mrs. Grundy will be propitiated.” 

Her command of the situation was now complete. 
While she left the room, Norbert placed the portrait 
on the easel ; and when she returned, with Marghe- 
rita, all was in readiness for her. A little later Mrs. 
Grundy, entering in person, would have found every- 
thing most proper, commonplace, and obvious, — the 
artist painting, the sitter maintaining her pose with 
an air of cheerful endurance, the maid seated at a 
window knitting. For some time only the picture 
was talked of; and Camilla’s interest in it was so 
unfeigned and so lively that Norbert began to suspect 
that he had been tricked into resuming work upon it, 
346 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and that her visit had in reality no other object than 
this. But he was mistaken, for presently Camilla 
herself changed the subject abruptly. 

“ I believe,” she said, that you have not seen 
Irma since her engagement.” 

The frown returned to Norbert’s brow. 

No,” he replied curtly, “ I have not seen her. 
Did you think it likely that I would call to offer my 
congratulations? She knows well what I feel, and 
also what I think of the man she is to marry.” 

** Have you expressed your opinion to her? ” 

Very plainly. I told her that he was unworthy 
of her in every respect, — a selfish, mercenary man 
of the world ; the type of a class detestable above all 
others.” 

“ You were certainly frank. And the result — ? ” 
Was that I made her very angry, and that I left 
her house with the determination never to enter it 
again.” 

“ Our experiences are somewhat similar. I, too, 
expressed my opinion frankly; and I, too, made her 
more angry than I imagined it possible she could be. 
It is very plain that neither you nor I ever really 
understood her. We fancied that she was easily in- 
fluenced because she was always so gentle, but there 
was never a greater mistake. When her feelings are 
roused, it is impossible to move her. She is loyalty 
personified, and the only way to prevent her marrying 
this man is to prove his unworthiness to her.” 

But how is that to be accomplished? ” 

“ Not by sulking in solitude and breaking off all 
intercourse with her and with him. It can be accom- 
plished only by accepting matters as they are, and 
347 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

making, or seeming to make, the best of them. 
When I saw that nothing was to be gained by oppo- 
sition, I yielded gracefully, begged Irma’s pardon, 
congratulated Mr. Hastings, and have been on the 
most friendly and amiable terms with both of them 
ever since.” 

Norbert’s countenance expressed his disgust. 

“ I am no hypocrite,” he said. “ I cannot follow 
such an example.” 

“ No,” replied Camilla, “ you are not a hypocrite, 
oh, no ! You prefer to stand aloof, and let Irma walk 
straight to a mistake that will wreck her life, rather 
than put a little compulsion on yourself, restrain your 
feelings, keep up friendly relations with her and 
especially with hinty and so perhaps find what we 
^vant, — the proof that he is thinking and caring only 
for her fortune.” 

Norbert turned toward her. There was something 
now beside misery and surliness on his clouded face. 

“ That,” he said, ‘Svould be treachery. To pre- 
tend friendship with her and with him, in order that 
I might do them both the greatest injury possible — ” 

The girl stamped her foot with impatience. 

“ Listen to you ! ” she cried. “ Would it be the 
greatest possible injury to her to save her from giving 
herself to a man who is unworthy of her and who will 
certainly make her miserable in the end? For if you 
think Irma could be other than miserable when she 
finds how she has been deceived and how little real 
sympathy there is between them, you don’t know 
her at all. And would you call it treachery to expose 
his real motives and the falsity of his professions of 
love?” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Norbert held out his right hand. 

“To lose that,'' he said, “would be to end every- 
thing for me, — all my career and all my hopes as an 
artist. Yet I would consent to lose it if by doing so 
I could ensure her happiness. But what you sug- 
gest — which is plainly to play a part, to act the spy, 
to try by underhand means to obtain proof which 
cannot be had by honorable means — is impossible. 
I cannot do it.” 

“ You are very complimentary to me,” returned 
Camilla, “ if you think I have suggested anything 
dishonorable. All that I have proposed is that you 
shall do what I am doing, — accept what is for the 
present inevitable, but meanwhile resolve that if by 
any means this engagement can be broken it shall be 
done. I will not allow Irma to be sacrificed if I can 
help it. And in order to help it I should have few 
scruples. I believe that I shall succeed ; I believe 
that if I can discover one or two things about Mr. 
Hastings, her eyes will be opened. But I need help, 
and you, if you were reasonable, could help me 
much.” 

“How?” Norbert asked, with visible signs of 
yielding in his face and manner. 

“ By going back to finish your portrait of Mr. 
Hastings. Stop!” — as he made an inarticulate 
protest — “ think a moment. What do you gain by 
refusing to fulfil your engagement? Is it anything 
beside the gratification of indulging a resentment 
which can do him no harm and yourself no good? 
Bah ! be more of a man ! Go back and finish the 
work you have undertaken, whether you like it or 
not And while finishing it, keep your eyes and ears 
349 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

open, I don’t ask you to be a spy, as you politely 
charge, but only to observe. I am sure of one thing : 
that there is some connection between Mr. Hastings 
and Mrs. Treherne, — some plot perhaps in which 
Irma is concerned. That woman was pleased when 
she heard of the engagement. I could swear to it. 
Now, why should she be pleased ? People will tell 
you of an old love affair between Mr. Hastings and 
herself, and they say that he — what is the word ? — 
oh, yes ! that he jilted her." Is it likely, therefore, 
that she would be gratified at his marrying a young, 
beautiful, and immensely rich woman? And yet she 
was ! There was no pretence about it. I watched 
her closely and I know, that she was absolutely de- 
lighted. I determined then to find out what was the 
meaning of it, but I have not been able to do so yet. 
Now, I want you to come back and give me your 
help. We need to watch them both, — I at Argyle, 
you at Idlesse, — and between us we may discover 
something. Only think of it for a moment, — think 
of Irma as the dupe and victim of two such people ; 
and if you ever really loved her, you will be ready to 
aid me in saving her.” 

Of Camilla’s own sincerity there could be no 
doubt. She believed intensely every word that she 
uttered. To her mind there was no question of pos- 
sible mistake in her apprehension of the situation. 
And it was owing partly to her stage life that she 
conceived this situation very melodramatically. What 
she had seen and heard of Eleanor Treherne fitted 
into such a conception, as well as her superficial 
reading of the character of Hastings. Although she 
was not aware of the fact, her curiosity and interest 

350 




WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


were piqued and excited by the mystery which she 
instinctively perceived. She desired to know all that 
was to be known about these two, their past and 
present connection with each other, besides wishing 
to defeat their scheme with regard to Irma. For of 
the existence of such a scheme she had not an in- 
stant’s doubt; and it filled her at once with passion- 
ate indignation and an equally passionate desire to 
prove her own power to cope with and overcome 
them. It is to be feared that in anticipating final 
triumph she gave little thought to all that Irma 
would suffer in such an event. To her, also, Irma 
had become what she resented her being to others, 
— simply a prize to be struggled for. 

So much in brief explanation of her position, and 
of the effect which her words had upon Norbert, — 
an effect they could never have exerted but for the 
sincerity behind them. After her appeal the young 
artist hesitated for a moment, but it was only for a 
moment. She had touched in him the deepest and 
strongest passions known to man, — love, jealousy, 
the desire to save one beloved from a fate which it 
enraged him to think of, and perhaps (so complex is 
the heart) to repay her scorn by proving the truth of 
every accusation which have aroused it. All these 
feelings seconded Camilla’s words with resistless 
force; so that, gazing at her with eyes which during 
his short hesitation had gathered a deeper fire, he 
said abruptly : 

“ It is not necessary to add anything more. You 
are right. If one can save her and disappoint him, 
one should not think of oneself. I do not see what I 
can accomplish by going back to his house ; but if 

351 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


there is the faintest hope of accomplishing anything, 
I am ready to go there, or anywhere else. Only, tell 
me exactly what you want me to do.” 

“ / want yoit to watch ! ” said Camilla, impressively. 
“ People often betray themselves in little things. It 
was by observing little things that I drew conclusions 
about Mrs. Treherne which I found afterward were 
perfectly correct. Now, I grant that Mr. Hastings 
is not the kind of person td betray himself ; but even 
he may have his moments of weakness, or something 
may happen to surprise him. In case such a thing 
occurs I want you to be there.” 

“As a spy,” remarked Norbert, with bitterness. 
“ Very well. It is for her. I will go — and ‘ watch,’ 
as you put it.” 

“ I put it correctly,” returned Camilla, with dignity. 
“ But I am not afraid of a term. To save Irma I 
would be a spy, if necessary. I do not, however, 
consider that you will be one because you return to 
Mr. Hastings’ house to fulfil an engagement.” 

“ What is the good of pretences? ” asked the young 
man, recklessly. “ No engagement could take me 
back to that house if it were not for the hope of 
saving her. But I am on fire when I think of the 
situation as you have represented it, — she between 
those two schemers, who care only for her wealth ! 
It is enough to madden one.” 

“ It does not madden me,” said Camilla, calmly. 
“ It only makes me set my wits to work to scheme 
also, and defeat them. There is interest in it. It is 
like a game. I am determined that I will succeed, 
— that I will save Irma from them, and prove to 
Mrs. Treherne that she had good cause for disliking 

352 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


me, as she did from the first moment that we saw 
each other.” 

Norbert looked at her with surprise. 

“You and I are very different,” he said. “ I care 
nothing for interest or games, or the pleasure of 
proving myself a better schemer than people whom 
I despise. I care only for the end, and I would pre- 
fer to reach it by some other means than those which 
to me seem treacherous. But if there are no others, 
then I will take the means at hand, and do my best 
to discover what we want to know. That is all there 
is to be said on the subject.” 

He laid down his palette as he spoke; and 
Camilla, understanding this as a sign of dismissal, 
rose with a somewhat offended air. 

“ I see that you do not intend to do any real work 
on my portrait,” she said, “ so I may as well go. I 
hope that after a while you will be able to control 
your feelings — and your manners — a little better. 
When do you intend to return to Idlesse?” 

“ I don’t know,” he answered reluctantly. “ I must 
write to Mr. Hastings. To-morrow, perhaps.” 


Ill 

I T is hardly necessary to say that in Camilla’s state- 
ment to Norbert of the situation as she conceived 
it, there were several mistakes. But on one point she 
was not mistaken, and this was in her assertion that 
Mrs. Treherne was genuinely pleased at Irma’s 
engagement. Indeed a much duller person than 
Miss Vincent might have perceived the fact; for 
23 353 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

while a simulated emotion may frequently be taken 
for a sincere one, it is not possible for any save the 
morbidly suspicious to fail in recognition of sincerity 
itself. Mrs. Treherne was without doubt sincerely 
pleased to learn that Hastings had prospered in his 
suit ; and this pleasure was so warmly expressed that 
it surprised Irma, who had fancied, she could not tell 
why, that her chaperon would not be delighted. Be- 
sides surprise, she also felt something closely ap- 
proaching to gratitude ; for, after the scene with 
Norbert and the violent disapproval of Camilla, any 
approval was gratifying, even that of Mrs. Treherne. 
This lady was also kind enough to explain why her 
congratulations were so cordial. 

“ I am charmed,” she had said, “ not only because 
I am sure it is just what poor Uncle Darracote would 
have wished above all things, but because I really 
think you have made an excellent choice. Many 
people would not think so ; for there is certainly a — 
well, a great dissimilarity between Mr. Hastings and 
yourself. But I believe that a certain amount of dis- 
similarity is a good basis for agreement. It is like 
counterparts: each has something which the other 
lacks. You are all spirituality, full of ideals and 
theories which would lead you into dreadful mistakes 
if you had no restraining influence; while he is, 
perhaps, a little too much the other way : a thorough 
man of the world — disillusionized, materialist — ” 

Here Irma had interrupted, flushing slightly. 

“ I think that you do Mr. Hastings injustice,” she 
said. “ He does not deserve to be called in any sense 
a materialist.” 

Mrs. Treherne smiled ; and even Irma was able to 
354 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


perceive that the smile was one of pity for the girl who 
fancied herself able to speak of Gerard Hastings with 
more knowledge than she, Mrs. Treherne, possessed. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ I have known Mr. Hastings 
a long time, and I think I know him fairly well. 
What I have said of him is true, but I don’t think his 
materialism will ever trouble you. As I was going 
on to add, I think your influence on each other will 
be most beneficial ; for I do not at all agree with 
those of your friends who think that you ought to 
marry an idealist like yourself, or some artist out of 
Bohemia. Everything points to your marriage with 
Gerard Hastings as the best thing possible, and I am 
simply delighted that it has been arranged.” 

With the same cordiality the speaker a little later 
offered her congratulations to Hastings himself ; and 
he, too, recognized "the note of sincerity with a sur- 
prise which had more definite foundation than that of 
Irma. It had been long, however, since he had 
ceased to trouble himself with any consideration of 
Mrs. Treherne when she was not immediately de- 
manding his attention ; and, having suitably acknowl- 
edged her good wishes, he now dismissed her from 
his thoughts. It was certainly astonishing that she 
should be pleased that he had succeeded where he 
could have sworn she would have been glad for him 
to fail ; but her pleasure or her discomfiture was alike 
indifferent to him. 

It was this indifference, together with very natural 
preoccupation, which prevented his observing that in 
the course of the next few days she several times 
attempted to obtain private speech with him. But 
this had now become difficult, without a co-operation 
355 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


on his part which was clearly not to be reckoned 
upon. In the face of Irma’s claims, she could nc 
longer boldly summon him to her side; and chance, 
so far from befriending, had seemed maliciously set 
upon thwarting her. Or was it to Camilla rather 
than to chance that she owed one or two defeats? 
Onee, hearing his voice in the hall and knowing that 
Irma was out, she had called him into that small, 
luxurious apartment which had come to be regarded 
as her private sitting-room. “ This is like old times,” 
she had declared, as she invited him by a gesture to a 
chair which was a silken nest of comfort. “ Sit down. 
I have something important to say to you.” Hastings, 
as in courtesy bound, /Obeyed the gesture. But the 
something important was not said ; for at the moment 
Camilla appeared, charmingly arrayed in visiting cos- 
tume, anxious to know if Mrs. Treherne intended to 
accompany her to certain houses that afternoon, and 
very much surprised to see Mr. Hastings ! 

Again, when after several disappointments she 
finally met him in the grounds one evening and 
turned to walk with him along the familiar paths, was 
it chance which brought Camilla suddenly across 
their way and induced her to join them? Mrs. Tre- 
herne felt quite certain that it was not chance : she 
was now sure that Camilla, prompted either by 
curiosity or by jealousy on behalf of her cousin, was 
watching her too closely for a private interview with 
Hastings to be possible at Argyle. Well, she would 
find or make her opportunity elsewhere, — that was 
all. What a fool the girl was to fancy that she could 
prevent it ! 

For reasons of her own, however, she was in no 
356 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


haste. It is an old comparison to liken cruel women 
to the feline race, but the comparison is sometimes 
justified by curiously feline traits in certain women. 
As a tiger in the jungle or a domestic cat on the 
hearth-rug crouches in perfect quietness watching its 
prey, secure that it cannot escape, and betraying 
enjoyment only by the movement of the softly mov- 
ing tail and a yellow gleam of half-closed eyes, so 
during the fortnight which elapsed before Camilla 
appeared in Norbert’s studio Eleanor Treherne had 
watched Hastings, as he played his part of lover with 
a charming delicacy and grace. It was not a pleasant 
sight to her, although she had no belief in his sincer- 
ity ; but it would have been far more unpleasant had 
she not entertained the agreeable conviction that she 
had but to put out her hand to find' him in her power. 
For this moment she could wait, even as the tiger or 
the cat waits for its final spring ; and there can be no 
doubt that her sense of anticipated enjoyment was in 
its nature extremely like theirs. 

It happened, however, by a somewhat singular 
chance, that her determination to end this waiting 
was taken on the day when Camilla paid her visit to 
Norbert and induced him to promise that he would 
return to Idlesse. On that day Mrs. Treherne’s 
patience had given way : she found herself inexpres- 
sibly irritated by the sight of Hastings’ devofion, 
which even to her perception had something of a 
genuine air, and his unconscious complacency. She 
was unable to understand her own hesitation. Surely 
what she desired above all things was to strike a blow 
which this man would be forced to feel, who had 
never felt anything else which it was in her power to 
357 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


inflict. Why, then, had she waited? There was no 
reason for delay. What was to be done should be 
done promptly. She said these things to herself, 
with a sudden, instinctive realization that what is not 
done promptly, in this strange life where we walk in 
thick mist, seeing not so much as an inch of the way 
before us, may, by some wholly unforeseen chance, 
never be done at all. So she resolved to delay no 
longer ; and then, according to a very common fash- 
ion of events, something occurred which gave fresh 
force to this resolve. 

It was on its face a very simple occurrence. Only 
a call from Father Thorne, who came late in the after- 
noon and found Irma just returned from a drive. 
Even his eye was struck by the girl’s beauty, as, 
still wearing her outdoor costume, she came across 
the rich, dim drawing-room toward him, with the sun- 
set glow falling upon her through the western window 
by which he stood. Of late she had bloomed into 
a radiancy of loveliness to be compared only to that 
of some brilliant, delicate flower. The priest looked 
at her with an admiration not unmixed with sadness. 
What a beautiful creature she was, — as beautiful in 
nature as in person, — and formed for all high and 
noble purposes ! How would those purposes be ful- 
filled, and what would be the result of the engage- 
ment into which she had entered, and which was at 
present pouring such a flood of that rare sunshine of 
the heart called happiness into her life? 

The sight of this happiness was in a measure pa- 
thetic to the man who, both from his age and his 
calling, knew how little it was likely to endure. Yet 
he was not one of those who distrusted Hastings and 

< 358 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


foresaw only unhappiness for Irma in her association 
with him. On the contrary, from the first moment 
they had met at Argyle a singular mutual liking had 
developed between the priest and the man of the 
world. Intellectually they had so much in common 
that their points of difference were almost lost sight 
of; and when now and then these points were touched, 
the priest, who had been in his time a man of the 
world in a sense far wider and deeper than that in 
which the term is usually employed, understood the 
position and the limitations of the other as no or- 
dinary ecclesiastic could have understood them. 
Moreover, besides experience, he possessed the in- 
sight of something closely approaching to genius; 
and when the two discussed those problems of thought 
and conduct which agitate the modern world, it was 
with rare dispassionateness and a sense of keen in- 
tellectual pleasure on the part of each. 

Soon they drifted into an intimacy which had for 
its basis that sympathy which is the most enduring 
basis for any human friendship. And this sympathy 
on the part of Father Thorne was not wholly intel- 
lectual. The priestly sense in him recognized certain 
moral qualities in Hastings which he liked and ad- 
mired, and in which he perceived possibilities of 
spiritual development hardly to be looked for in a 
man who, if not a materialist in belief, was naturally 
steeped to the lips in what may be called the ma- 
terialism of life. So it had to come to pass that, 
somewhat to her surprise, Irma found, if not formal 
approval of her engagement, at least a comprehen- 
sion and hopefulness on the part of the priest which 
greatly comforted her. 


359 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ It is much to be regretted that Mr. Hastings is 
not a Catholic,” he had said when she announced her 
engagement; “but he has a mind open to conviction 
and free from prejudice, j^nd where that is the case 
there is everything to hope. If he has at present no 
faith — or at least nothing which deserves to be called 
faith, — it is owing to the fact that its claims have 
never been presented to him in a manner to obtain 
his intellectual assent. But he wisely refrains from 
dogmatizing on subjects of which he is ignorant; 
and when an unanswerable argument is presented 
to him he has sense enough to perceive and candor 
to acknowledge that it is unanswerable. As for the 
worldliness on which you say that your friends lay 
so much stress, it is not, I think, of an extreme type. 
No man can know the world as this man knows it, 
without becoming cynical and to some degree scep- 
tical of higher things. But cynicism and scepticism 
have not with him, as with many men, withered the 
possibility of these higher things in his own nature. 
Unless I am greatly mistaken, he possesses many 
admirable qualities, as well as many attractive ones ; 
and I do not believe that he is mercenary.” 

At the last words Irma’s eyes had shone upon the 
speaker like stars. 

“ I have not thought it worth while to tell you that 
the charge of mercenary intention is that which is par- 
ticularly made against him,” she said ; “ because I knew 
that you would anticipate it — and I give it no heed.” 

“ Of course I anticipated it,” the priest replied ; 
“ but I do not believe that Mr. Hastings has sought 
you for your fortune. Perhaps you may be able to 
test — ” He broke* off, and then continued hastily: 

360 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

In short, my child, consult God and your own heart 
with regard to this matter rather than your friends. 
And be sure that you have the benefit of my poor 
prayers that you may be rightly guided in a choice 
so important. Humanly speaking, there is nothing 
in life more important; for it is marriage which 
makes or mars the lives of most men and women.” 

It was with a heart greatly lightened that Irma 
went away from this interview; and it may readily 
be judged whether the friendship which had from 
the first existed between herself and Father Thorne 
was strengthened and deepened by his kind sympathy 
and wise comprehension. But all this had been some 
time before the afternoon when she came to meet him 
in her drawing-room. 

“ How charming of you not to have come a few 
minutes earlier ! ” she laughed, when they shook 
hands ; “ for in that case I should have missed you.” 

And I should have been very sorry,” he replied, 
“ since I have a special reason for intruding on you 
at this rather inconvenient hour.” 

“ Can any hour be inconvenient for receiving a 
friend ? And this hour I consider a particularly con- 
venient one, since I may hope to persuade you to 
dine with us.” 

That is impossible, much as I should like to do 
so. I left a man waiting for me, — and indeed it 
is at his solicitation that I am here. I have come to 
propose an act of charity to you.” 

“ That is very good of you,” said Irma, with the 
utmost sincerity. “ I owe you thanks for many things, 
but for nothing more than giving me the great pleas- 
ure of relieving distress. What is it now?” 

361 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Instead of answering immediately, Father Thorne 
regarded her with an expression of hesitation and 
doubt. One would have said that he feared to speak, 
and yet never was invitation to do so more unmistak- 
able than in the eyes which met his own. 

“ Do you remember,” he said at length, “ an old 
man whom you once spoke with at the church door ? 
His name was Wilkins.” 

“ I remember him very well,” Irma answered with 
evident interest. “ I did not know his name at that 
time, but I made some inquiries and learned who 
he was. He had a child with him.” 

“ Yes,” said the priest. “ It is about that child I have 
come. I believe you spoke to her of visiting Argyle.” 

“ I asked her if she would not like to do so,” 
Irma replied. “ But the old man seemed offended 
by the invitation, and his manner was so singular 
that I did not press it.” 

“ I can explain the cause of his singular mannec>” said 
Father Thorne. “ Before the meeting at the church 
he had called here to see you, and was told that you 
refused, in the most positive terms, to see him.” 

“ But it is a great mistake, — no such thing ever 
occurred ! I never heard of Mr. Wilkins until after 
our meeting at the church.” 

“I felt sure that there was a mistake,” said the 
priest, quietly, “ and I told him so. But you can under- 
stand that, believing you had refused to see him, he 
was not prepared to receive your kindness in the 
spirit with which under other circumstances he would 
have received it.” 

“ What I cannot understand,” said Irma, is how 
such a mistake occurred. Why should he have 
362 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

thought that I would refuse to see him? Who could 
have told him such a thing?” 

“ He says that he was told so by Mrs. Treherne.” 

“ By Mrs. Treherne ! ” the girl repeated. She 
was about to say “ Impossible ! ” But something 
suddenly stopped her, — some instinct which told 
her that it was possible. “ Mrs. Treherne took a 
great liberty if she ventured to answer for me in such 
a manner,” she said ; “ but no doubt she fancied it 
a matter of no importance.” 

Father Thorne, who felt thoroughly convinced that 
Mrs. Treherne was very far from fancying anything 
of the kind, did not reply to this. He merely said : 

“ I am glad to be assured that I was right in be- 
lieving that you never heard of Mr. Wilkins’ visit. 
I told him I was confident there had been a mistake.” 

‘'And what was the object of his visit?” Irma 
asked. 

“ I think,” answered the priest, “ that I will leave 
Mr. Wilkins to tell you the object he had in desiring 
to see you. At present I have come, by his request, 
to say that the child is ill, and that she frets for that 
visit to Argyle which you suggested. He wishes to 
know if he may bring her to visit the place in case 
she is able to come. The last is doubtful, I fear.” 

“ I am very sorry that he thought it necessary to 
ask permission,” Irma replied. “ And I am more 
sorry that the child should have fretted for a pleasure 
so entirely within her reach. I will go to see her 
and bring her here myself, if you will tell me where 
to find her.” 

There was another brief, and to Irma inexplicable, 
pause before the priest replied. It was plain that he 

363 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


hesitated — that he opened his lips to speak, then 
reconsidered and closed them again — before he 
finally said : 

“ I can perceive no reason why you should not go 
to see the child. Mr. Wilkins is living in the village 
of Woodburn, in a house which is one of the first 
as you enter the village from the direction of the 
church.” 

“ I remember that he told me he was living in the 
country for the sake of the child’s health,” said Irma. 
“ I am sorry that I have not made an effort sooner 
to do something for her. I should have done so 
but for — well, for reasons which seem very small 
when one thinks of a sick, lonely child fretting for 
anything so easily attainable as a visit to Argyle.” 

“ I knew that she would not need to fret long after 
you heard of her desire,” said Father Thorne, with 
a very kindly look in his eyes. “ Go, then, and do 
this act of charity, leaving its results and conse- 
quences with God. I am sure that whatever they 
are they will not harm/^?//.” 

The unconscious gravity of his tone struck Irma 
with surprise. It seemed the simplest thing imagi- 
nable, this question of a charitable visit and a little 
kindness; yet Father Thorne spoke of it as of some- 
thing which might be fraught with serious conse- 
quences. It was his tone which made her suddenly 
remember that Hastings had advised her to have 
nothing to do with either Wilkins or the child. Had 
she not also promised him that she would regard his 
advice? This recollection flashing upon her made 
her extend her hand as if to stop the priest, who 
after his last words rose to his feet. 

364 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


One moment, Father ! ” she said quickly. There 
seems to be something connected with Mr. Wilkins 
which I do not understand. After meeting him, I 
asked a few questions of Mr. Hastings; and I was 
told that he had in some way given trouble to the 
executors of Mr. Darracote, and that it was best that 
I should have nothing to do with him. It did not 
seem a matter which concerned me at all; so I 
promised to regard the wishes of those who knew 
more than I did. But in going now to pay this visit, 
and in bringing the child to Argyle, I shall disregard 
these wishes. Will you tell me if it is right for me 
to do so? I ask you because I have no doubt that 
you know what is the matter at issue between Mr. 
Wilkins and the representatives of Mr. Darracote, 
and you can therefore advise me.” 

“I can easily advise you so far,” said Father 
Thorne, with no trace of hesitation in his manner 
now. “What you call the matter at issue between 
Mr. Wilkins and the executors of the late Mr. Darra- 
cote is purely a question of fact, which neither your 
conduct nor that of any one else can alter in the 
least. If you wish to know all that there is to know 
regarding it, I have no doubt Mr. Wilkins will tell 
you everything; but in not telling you myself I am 
respecting his wishes. I assure you, however, that 
there is no reason why you should not go to see this 
child, nor why you should not bring her here if you 
wish to do so.” 

“Thank you!” said Irma, gratefully. “That as- 
surance is all I want. For the rest I have no 
curiosity, and shall certainly ask Mr. Wilkins no 
questions.” 

365 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


IV 

I T was when they chanced to be alone together 
for a few minutes before dinner, that Irma, look- 
ing at Mrs. Treherne, said quietly: 

“ Will you tell me what you know of a man called 
Peter Wilkins, and why you told him that I refused 
to see him?” 

Mrs. Treherne fairly gasped with astonishment; 
and although her power of self-control was generally 
equal to any demand, her countenance for once be- 
trayed her. The confusion of detected guilt was 
plainly stamped upon it. 

“ What do you know of Peter Wilkins ? ” she asked. 
Where have you seen him ? ” 

“ I do not think that matters at all,” Irma replied. 
“ What matters is, that I shall know why you assumed 
the right to speak for me and to say that I refused to 
see him.” 

“ I thought that I was sparing you annoyance,” 
Mrs. Treherne answered, regaining her composure. 
“ I knew that he had greatly annoyed Uncle Darra- 
cote, and therefore I imagined that by sending him 
away I was doing you a service.” 

“ Even in that case you should not have told him 
that I refused to see him. It would have been suffi- 
cient to send him away on your own authority.” 

“ He would not have heeded me. I have not in- 
herited the Darracote fortune.” 

“ No,” returned the calm young voice. “ And 
since with the fortune go the responsibilities attached 
366 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


to it, it is for me to judge of them. You should 
have given me the opportunity of deciding whether 
or not I would see this man.” 

“ It does not appear to have mattered very much 
that I did not give you the opportunity,” Mrs. Tre- 
herne said sharply, “ since you have apparently seen 
him — and heard his story, I presume.” 

Irma looked at the speaker for a moment in silence. 
Difficult as it was for her to suspect any one, an in- 
stinct told her that Mrs. Treherne not only knew the 
story in question, but feared very much that she had 
heard it; so that it was impossible to believe that 
her motive in dismissing Peter Wilkins with a false- 
hood had been what she alleged. Something like 
a chill of apprehension touched the girl. What was 
this story which evidently concerned her, and yet 
which she alone did not know? Should she make 
this woman tell her what it was? A word leading 
her to suppose the knowledge already acquired, 
would do so. There was an instant’s brief tempta- 
tion, and then a proud sense of honor, a proud 
recollection of a promise given, put the temptation 
aside. For had not Hastings asked, “ Will you trust 
me?'' and had not she answered, Whatever I prom- 
ise I fulfil" 1 It was true that nothing had been 
said of listening to Peter Wilkins’ story, but surely 
that was included in the request that she would have 
nothing to do with him. Urged by charity, she was 
about to disregard this request in one particular, but 
all the more would she be careful not to disregard 
it in the other. 

“I have seen Mr. Wilkins,” she replied gravely; 

that is, I have met him by an accident. But I have 

367 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


heard no story. I have only learned that he has a 
grandchild who is ill.” 

“ A grandchild ! ” interrupted Mrs. Treherne, in 
a startled tone. “Did he tell you that it was his 
grandchild? ” 

“ I believe so — but what difference does it make? 
Whoever the child may be, she is a poor, sickly little 
creature, and I asked her if she would not like to 
see Argyle — ” 

“ You asked her ! ” Mrs. Treherne raised herself 
in her chair with a look of consternation. “ Where 
did you see her? ” 

Irma lifted her eyebrows slightly. It began to 
seem as if it were she who was being held to account. 

“I met her,” she answered, “ at the church door; 
and her appearance struck me so much — for she 
seemed sad as well as sickly — that I asked her if 
she would not like to visit Argyle. Now it seems 
that she is ill, and that she remembers the suggestion 
and frets to come here.” 

“ Good Heavens ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Treherne. 
She fell back in her chair. “ You are more foolish 
than I could have imagined possible. Does Gerard 
Hastings know of this? ” 

“ Mr. Hastings has not been here since I told 
Father Thorne an hour ago that I would go to see 
the child,” Irma replied coldly. 

“Oh — Father Thorne!” said Mrs. Treherne. 
The introduction of this name seemed for a moment 
to strike her dumb. She lay in her deep, luxurious 
seat, staring at Irma with the expression of one who 
is trying to solve a problem. “ What has the priest 
to do with it?” she finally asked, as if of herself. 

368 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ He has nothing to do with it, further than that 
he brought me a message from Mr. Wilkins,” Irma 
answered. “ But he agrees with me that to bring 
the child to Argyle, if she is able to come, will be 
a simple act of kindness and charity.” 

“ A simple act of kindness and charity ! ” Mrs. 
Treherne repeated. Then she suddenly threw back 
her head and burst into a peal of laughter, — a peal 
which sounded hysterical as it rang through the 
rooms and out into the hall, where it astonished 
Camilla, who was descending the staircase, and the 
butler, who was in the act of opening the dining- 
room door preparatory to announcing dinner. “ You 
are to be congratulated on the subject you have 
found for your charity,” she said presently, recover- 
ing her gravity as suddenly as she had lost it. “ I 
doubt if anything more absurd was ever conceived 
in melodrama. But here comes Miss Vincent, who 
looks very much surprised — I suppose at my 
amusement.” 

” There is certainly reason for her surprise,” said 
Irma, in a tone which made Camilla’s eyes open a 
little wider. 

At this point dinner was announced, and the con- 
versation ended ; nor was it resumed afterward. Mrs. 
Treherne had heard all that she wished to know, all 
that was necessary to quicken intention into action ; 
and when she laid her head on her pillow that night 
it was with the firm resolve to see and speak with 
Hastings without further delay. 

In this manner it came to pass that, after Irma had 
driven away the next morning on her errand of 
24 369 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


charity, Mrs. Treherne ordered a small pony carriage 
and, with only the attendance of a diminutive groom, 
also drove away. 

Her destination was very near at hand; for al- 
though she was aware that Hastings had not been 
staying at his cottage for several days, she also knew 
that he was likely to return to it at any time, and 
hence it was worth while to look for him there in the 
first place. He had in fact returned that morning, on 
account of Norbert’s letter making an appointment 
to resume work on the picture of himself and his 
dogs. 

The artist, according to his appointment, arrived 
punctually, and after a brief conversation — very 
stiff on his side and very easy on that, of Hastings — 
went to the painting-room. Somewhat to his sur- 
prise, he found the picture, which he had not seen 
for a fortnight, much better than he had thought it ; 
and, distasteful as the subject was, interest and pride 
in the work as work revived in him, and he was 
painting with great energy, facility, and absorption, 
when a sound of wheels grating on the drive before 
the door of the cottage was followed by the entrance 
of an apologetic servant. 

“ What is the meaning of this?” asked Hastings. 
“ Have n’t I told you that I am on no account to be 
disturbed when I am with Mr. Norbert? ” 

“Yes, sir,” the man made haste to answer. “But 
it is a lady, and she insisted that I should tell you 
that she wishes to see you.” 

“ A lady ! What is her name? ” 

“ She gave no name, sir,” the servant — who was 
a new one — replied. “She is driving herself in a 

370 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


pony trap, and she told me to say that she would 
not detain you long.” 

Hastings rose, with an irritated expression. 

“ No doubt it is one of my neighbors who has 
dropped in with an invitation or request of some 
kind,” he said. “ A great nuisance, but it would be 
an unpardonable offence to refuse to see her. I am 
sorry that your work should be interrupted, Mr. 
Norbert ; but perhaps you can make shift with Gelert 
until I return.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” Norbert replied, glancing at the hand- 
some dog, that pricked up his ears at the sound of 
his name ; “ I can work on him very well.” 

Notwithstanding this assertion, however, he laid 
down his palette as soon as the door closed behind 
Hastings, and stood with his hands thrust into his 
pockets, frowning deeply. The attitude was one of 
meditation ; and, as a matter of fact, he was medi- 
tating on the very unpleasant position in which he 
found himself. He had promised Camilla that he 
would return here as a spy, — he did not for an in- 
stant shirk the use of the plain term, — and that he 
would lose no opportunity to discover anything about 
Hastings which might tend to discredit him in Irma’s 
eyes. After he had given this promise, and after 
Miss Vincent’s compelling presence was removed, 
there is no doubt that he felt uncomfortable and 
wished himself relieved of his engagement; but he 
had derived consolation from the thought that al- 
though he would certainly suffer in his own esteem 
by returning to Idlesse under such circumstances, it 
was extremely unlikely that any opportunity for de- 
tective work would be offered him, or that he would 
37 ^ 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

be able to use it if it were offered. He would go, 
since he had promised to do so, and since there did 
truly seem something contemptible in not being able 
to accept defeat with a better grace ; but as for ex- 
pecting to discover anything — Miss Vincent was 
absurd alike in her suspicions and her hopes, and 
fancied that people lived the plots of plays and operas 
in real life! The probabilities were that there was 
nothing to discover of the kind she imagined ; but 
if there were, he felt thoroughly assured that no 
chance of such discovery would come his way. 

And now — had it not possibly come? Of course 
this visitor might be, as Hastings said, some lady of 
the neighborhood merely dropping in to give an in- 
formal invitation ; but, on the other hand, might she 
not be an altogether different person? At all events, 
it was certainly incumbent upon one who had assumed 
the role of detective to satisfy himself on the point. 
What could he say to Camilla if he failed to do even 
so much as this ? To step into the next room, which 
had windows to the front, and glance out at the occu- 
pant of the pony trap, was very easily to be done, and 
might pass as no more than the gratification of a 
curiosity with which it* is well known that many 
people are greatly afflicted. And yet, easily as it 
was to be done, and harmless, although inexcus- 
ably ill-bred, as it might appear, it is difficult to 
describe the reluctance of the unhappy amateur in 
detective work to do it. Every instinct of gentleman- 
hood within him revolted, even while something else 
— those passions of the natural man upon which 
Camilla had so skilfully played — impelled him to 
fulfil the reason of his being where he was. 

372 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


The end of his meditation startled Gelert, who was 
watching him. With an oath, to which the dog re- 
sponded by a low growl of disapproval, he crossed 
the room in which he stood — the original use of 
which was that of a smoking and billiard room — to 
a door which opened into a drawing-room at the 
front. If this door were locked, as he had once or 
twice known it to be, that would end the matter ; he 
would have no means of discovering who the caller 
was, and might rest satisfied in ignorance. But when 
did chance ever assist him who leaves to chance the 
decision of some question in which honor or ethics is 
involved ? The door yielded to his touch ; he pushed 
aside an Oriental curtain on the other side, and a 
dozen steps carried him across the room to one of 
the windows opening on the veranda beyond, where, 
shielded from observation by blinds and curtains, he 
saw clearly the pony carriage and its occupant, as 
well as Hastings, who stood beside it. 

So it was Mrs. Treherne, after all ! By the sense 
of startled surprise which seized him, he knew how 
little he had really expected this proof that Camilla’s 
suspicions possessed at least some degree of founda- 
tion. And it was probably natural that the sight of 
this woman, whom he had never liked, and who was 
charged with scheming against Irma together with the 
man who stood beside her, should have had the effect 
of immediately banishing all his scruples. So far from 
hesitating any longer over this manner of acquiring 
information, he was filled with a passionate desire to 
acquire more by any means whatever. He was on 
fire to know what those two were saying to each 
other, unmindful of the fact that it could be nothing 
373 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


of importance, since the ears of a servant were close 
behind them. “ If I could but hear ! ” he was saying 
to himself with an ardor which would have satisfied 
Camilla, when suddenly his heart gave a leap — Hast- 
ings extended his hand, Mrs. Treherne descended 
from the carriage, and, side by side, they mounted 
the veranda steps. 

The rest was like a dream to Norbert. He seemed 
to himself to be acting under some other volition 
than his own as he retreated rapidly across the apart- 
ment, drew the portiere carefully over the door by 
which he had entered, and, from the side of the paint- 
ing-room, arranged the door itself slightly ajar. The 
next moment he heard steps and voices. Hastings 
and Mrs. Treherne were entering the drawing-room. 


V 

T MUST think,” said Hastings, coldly, that you 
are giving yourself unnecessary trouble.” 

Mrs. Treherne looked at him with a mocking smile. 

“I have no doubt you think so; and, still more, 
that I am giving you unnecessary annoyance,” she 
rejoined. “ But you are mistaken on both points. 
The trouble and the annoyance are distinctly neces- 
sary. Otherwise, believe me, I should not be here — 
Thanks ! yes, I will sit down.” 

She sank into the seat which he offered, and then 
again looked up at him, as he remained standing 
before her. 

“ You had better sit down also,” she said. “ I 
comprehend perfectly that you wish to intimate to 
374 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


me that my visit should be short. I have not the 
least intention of prolonging it a moment beyond 
what is necessary. This being understood, you can 
I permit yourself to take a chair. We shall talk 
! better so.” 

Her tone was cool, almost insolent. It indicated 
to Hastings that the time had come when all pre- 
tences were to be swept away between them. In her 
glance, also, he read something quite new which told 
him that the situation was entirely changed. She had 
never been able heretofore to touch him in any effec- 
tive manner, but she believed herself able to do so 
now. Mingled with his disdain, he was conscious of 
a little curiosity. He bowed and answered : 

“ In that case I will sit down.” 

He drew forward a chair and seated himself im- 
mediately before her. Their eyes met ; and if there 
was something new to be perceived in hers, in his, on 
the contrary, she recognized only a long familiar 
indifference and contempt. 

“ I am ready,” he said, “ to hear what it is you 
have kindly called to tell me.” 

“ I have called to tell you something which I think 
you will admit to be rather important,” she replied. 
“You are engaged to marry Irma Darracote; and 
while of course I am convinced of your disinterested- 
ness — ” 

“Pardon me,” he interrupted, “but can we not 
take your opinion and your sarcasm for granted, and 
come to the important point if it exists? 

Her eyes flashed. No matter how much she might 
resolve not to allow herself to become irritated, the 
fact remained that this man possessed a power of 
375 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

irritating her which made the preservation of outward 
composure very difficult. 

“ Kindly suffer me to finish my sentence,” she said. 
“ I was about to add that, notwithstanding your dis- 
interestedness and probable indifference to the fact 
that Irma possesses the Darracote fortune, you will 
admit that it is a very important matter to her, and 
therefore also to you, that this possession is seriously 
threatened.” 

“I readily admit it,” he answered. “Whatever 
concerns either her interest or her happiness — the 
two things are entirely separable in her case — is of 
very great importance to me. But do you really 
suppose that I am not aware that there exists a pos- 
sible claimant of the Darracote fortune? I have 
known it for some time.” 

“ Ah ! you have seen Peter Wilkins, then? ” 

“I have not had that pleasure; but I have seen 
Mr. Kirby, and have heard from him the history of a 
claim which Mr. Darracote refused to acknowledge 
up to the time of his death. We decided — Mr. 
Kirby and myself — that there was no need to trouble 
Miss Darracote with any knowledge of the matter. 
It would only disturb her, and the claim is entirely 
unsupported by proof.” 

Leaning back in her chair, Mrs. Treherne regarded 
the speaker with what was clearly a smile of triumph. 

“ To believe what one wishes to believe, or what is 
clearly to one’s interest to believe, is tempting,” she 
said, “ but not always safe. You are mistaken in 
thinking that the claim is entirely unsupported by 
proof. There exists sufficient proof — for it convinced 
Mr. Darracote on his death-bed.” 

37 ^ 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


** How do you know that? ” 

: “ You shall hear. It is something of a story, so I 

I will begin at the beginning — at the night Mr. Darra- 
I cote died, and at the moment when you and I were 
together in the drawing-room and Peter Wilkins 
arrived. You probably remember that you saw him 
i alone, and on your own responsibility took him to 
Mr. Darracote’s chamber — ” 

“ So far from that,” Hastings interrupted, “ Mr. 
j Darracote himself sent for him, as I think fou must 
I remember, since you came into the hall and spoke 
to me after he had gone upstairs.” 

I “ It is a detail of small importance. The essential 
' fact is that but for you Mr. Darracote would never 
1 have known of his presence in the house. I do 
remember suggesting that your action had not been 
prudent, and you were very kind, very courteous, and 
went away quite abruptly — to smoke, I think you 
said.” 

“ Your recollection is correct. I went away to 
f smoke, and when I re-entered the house Mr. Darracote 
! was dead.” 

“ Yes,” — she spoke in a tone of quiet reminiscence. 
“ He died asking for you, and expressing surprise 
that you had left him. It was certainly unfortunate 
that you should have had a desire to smoke just then, 
j Your absence not only pained Uncle Darracote, but 
threw a great responsibility upon me.” 

Hastings started, as she had intended that he should. 

“ May I ask what possible responsibility my absence 
threw upon you ? ” 

“ It will be better to go on with the story in regular 
order, perhaps,” Mrs. Treherne returned composedly. 

377 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ Well, you went away to smoke, but I was very 
anxious about the effect of Mr. Wilkins’ visit, because 
the doctor had been so emphatic in forbidding any 
excitement for Uncle Darracote. So I stayed where 
you left me ; and presently Mr. Wilkins came down, 
and also Jasper, who said that he had orders to go 
for Mr. Kirby at once. Then I went upstairs, fearing 
the result of so much excitement on a person so 
ill — ” 

“You should have called me,” said Hastings, 
sternly. “You knew perfectly well that I was on the 
lawn.” 

“How did I know? You left me in the most 
abrupt manner possible. You did not consult me, 
and so — ” 

“ And so you ignored me. I perfectly comprehend 
the retaliation. It is not necessary to dwell upon it 
further. Let us come to facts. All this I know. I 
thought that you had something to tell me which 
I did not know.” 

What a gleam it was which shot from her eyes, 
narrowed and half-veiled by their drooping lids ! 

“ You are right,” she said. I have certainly 
something to tell you which you do not know. I 
went upstairs, where, as I feared, I found Uncle 
Darracote in a state of intense excitement. He 
wanted you, and insisted that the nurse should go and 
send for you. She had barely gone when he told me 
to raise him up in the bed and bring him writing 
materials. I was frightened and tried to prevent his 
exerting himself ; but you know how peremptory he 
could be. He insisted and I .did as he ordered. His 
strength was wonderful ; for with his own hand — oh, 
378 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


you may look incredulous, but it is so ! — he wrote 

thisr 

She opened a silken bag which hung on her arm, 
and drew out a paper which she handed to Hastings. 

For the space of a minute there was silence in the 
room; then Hastings looked up from the paper, 
which he had opened and read. He was a little pale, 
but his composure was unshaken. 

“This is a copy,” he said. “Where is the 
original? ” 

Mrs. Treherne laughed. It would have been diffi- 
cult to express in words anything so insulting as that 
laugh. 

“ Do you think that I would bring the original 
here? It is quite safe; and, if you desire me to do 
so, I can put it in Mr. Kirby’s hands to-morrow.” 

“ Why did you not put it into his hands immedi- 
ately ? ” 

“Because I saw no possible interest of my own to 
be gained by doing so, whereas there was a possibility 
that, by holding it in reserve, I might some day serve 
my interest very much.” 

“ Are you aware that to suppress a will is a , 
criminal offence?” 

“ I did not take the question of legality into con- 
sideration. Accident simply placed a certain power 
in my hands, and I had not the least scruple in using 
it; especially after I found that, out of his great 
wealth, Mr. Darracote had so poorly provided for me. 

I determined then that I would provide for myself. 
But I waited; I have never found that anything is 
gained by haste. I wished to learn what kind of 
person the new heiress might be, in order to decide 
379 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

whether or not to offer the paper to her. Well, you 
know what I found: a girl ignorant of life, brought 
UP by a dreamer of vague socialist dreams, who, had 
sh^e known of this, would have rushed to cast her 
fortune to the waif who may or may not be the child 
of the actress who died in Australia. There remaine 
to wait a little longer and see whom she would marry. 
From the first I had little doubt that it would be 

^ “ And you were kind enough to believe that, in 
case it were myself, you would have no difficulty in 
disposing of your document? j << t 

“ From my knowledge of you,” she returned, 1 
believed that you would perceive clearly that the 
only sensible thing to do is to destroy a paper which 
was written by a man so near death that he was 
incapable of judging correctly, and which recognizes 
a claim that in health he had always refused to 
recognize.” 

“ You overlook the point that his recognition was 
due to the fact that he had received fresh proof of the 
validity of the claim.” 

Mrs. Treherne waved her hand, as if dismissing 
that consideration with supreme indifference. 

‘‘ He was not in a condition to judge of anything,” 
she repeated. “ No doubt Wilkins worked upon his 
feelings, for it is to be supposed that he possibly had 
some, although I never discovered their existence. 
But this is an idle discussion. How does it matter 
whether or not he had reason for changing the dis- 
position of his fortune? The one important point is 
that this paper does change it, and that if it is pro- 
duced Irma Darracote is no longer a rich woman.” 

380 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ I am no lawyer,” replied Hastings, quietly; “but 
I doubt if that is so certain as you think. I do not 
believe that this paper has any legal value as a will. 
It is unwitnessed, and it would be produced under 
circumstances which would be considered suspicious, 
to say the least.” 

Mrs. Treherne laughed a little. 

“ Have no fears on that point,” she said. “ I have 
asked questions — discreetly, of course — of various 
lawyers. I find that this document, although informal, 
has a distinct legal value, as it affords important evi- 
dence that Mr. Darracote accepted the proof that the 
child in the hands of Peter Wilkins is his grandchild. 
It would help very materially in a suit to set aside the 
will and give the estate to the direct heir, — of so 
much you may be sure. But this legal value of the 
paper is really of minor importance. You know 
whether or not I am right in saying that if Irma once 
learns of its existence, no lawsuit will be necessary to 
establish the claim of the new heiress. The whole 
thing will for her assume a moral aspect, and nothing 
could prevent her from giving up the estate, — not 
even your influence.” 

There was a pause as the clear, emphatic tones 
ceased. Then Hastings rose and walked across the 
room. 

No one could know better than himself that Mrs. 
Treherne was right in her opinion. If, as he had 
warned Mr. Kirby, some such action was to be ex- 
pected of Irma if she learned the possible relationship 
of the child to Mr. Darracote, how much more certain 
was it when she saw this paper ! The signatures of 
a hundred witnesses could not make that will more 

3S1 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


valid in her eyes than it would be as it stood, — 
merely the pathetic expression of a dying man’s last 
wishes. 

But should Irma be permitted to do herself such 
great injury? This was the question which followed. 
There was a strong probability that Mr. Darracote, 
moved, no doubt, by consciousness of the near ap- 
proach of death, had at the last accepted with too 
much credulity proof which was by no means convin- 
cing. Hastings felt assured that, if he were living, he 
would be the first to advise delay until certainty could 
be secured. In the legal sense, this paper was not a 
will. If the two documents were placed side by side, 
any court would sustain the will under which Irma 
inherited the property. The document which the 
dying man had scrawled with such infinite difficulty 
had value only as evidence that he accepted the proof 
Peter Wilkins brought him ; but it would not give 
the fortune to the claimant further than, by sustain- 
ing her claim as the direct heir, — which claim was 
still to be proved, — it might indirectly lead to the 
setting aside of the regularly executed will. 

Since this was the case, and since it had not been 
produced immediately after Mr. Darracote’s death 
and before Irma had entered upon possession of her 
inheritance, Hastings said to himself that injustice 
rather than justice would be the result of producing 
it now. Mrs. Treherne not only judged correctly in 
foretelling the probable action of the girl whose keen 
moral sense he knew so well, but she was also right 
in asserting that even his influence would be power- 
less to prevent such action. What, then, remained 
to be done? To see Irma strip herself of her fortune 
382 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


to enrich a possible impostor — innocent, but still an 
impostor — or to buy this woman’s silence and her 
dishonorable secret, in order that he might use the 
last as his judgment dictated and the final sifting of 
proof rendered advisable? 

It was a terrible dilemma. He was not only con- 
scious that by accepting the last alternative he him- 
self would be technically guilty of a dishonorable 
action, but nothing could have been more bitter to 
him than the necessity of gratifying the cupidity and 
rewarding the dishonesty of one whom he so heartily 
despised. With an intense sense of rage and disgust, 
he told himself that to descend to her level by coming 
to terms with her was impossible. And yet — Irma! 
Was he not bound to shield her even at a sacrifice of 
his pride? He did not say, of his honor, because he 
did not think that he would sacrifice his honor by 
taking the power to do justice into his own hands. 
For let it be clearly stated that his intention was fixed 
to do exact justice to Mr. Darracote’s grandchild, if 
grandchild she proved to be. But as Mr. Darracote 
himself had said, he would run no risk of rewarding 
imposture, and of allowing Irma to throw away a 
fortune, of which he at least recognized the value, at 
the dictates of an overstrained conscientiousness. 

Mrs. Treherne, who had been watching his back 
with not a little anxiety in her gaze, as he stood at 
some distance from her, looking out of a window, 
drew an audible sigh of relief as he turned around. 
The first sight of his face told her that she had suc- 
ceeded, although she almost shrank before its look of 
contempt. But when he spoke it was at once appar- 
ent that he was still holding himself well in hand. 

383 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


You have traded successfully upon your knowl- 
edge that I will not have Miss Darracote disturbed in 
her peace and troubled in her conscience by this 
story,” he said. “ We will, therefore, come to busi- 
ness, if you please. What is your price for the paper 
of which we have been talking ? ’’ 

She threw her head back and gazed at him with 
eyes which blazed defiance of his scorn. 

“ My price,” she said, “ is the legacy I should have 
had, — one equal to your own. It is five hundred 
thousand dollars.” 

“ Are you mad ? ” he asked. 

“ No, I am not mad,” she returned. I am en- 
tirely sane, and you will find that I am also very 
determined. As soon as that paper came into my 
hands I said to myself that it should serve to give me 
the independence of fortune which I had never had. 
The Darracote estate is valued, I think, at seven or 
eight millions. Half a million is, therefore, a moder- 
ate price for securing such a fortune to you.” 

“ You are overreaching yourself,” said Hastings, 
very coldly. In the first place, the Darracote 
fortune is not mine — ” 

“ It will be yours ; and Irma will do whatever you 
direct, if you are careful not to array her absurd 
scruples against you. She has no love for me, but at 
a suggestion from you, to the effect that I have not 
been properly provided for, she will sign away half a 
million as lightly as I would give a cheque in payment 
for a bonnet. That is the result of her charming 
ignorance of the value of money.” 

“ In the second place,” Hastings went on, without 
noticing the interruption, “you do not secure the 

384 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


fortune either to her or to me by giving up this 
paper. As you have discovered, it has no standing 
as a will ; and if it were destroyed to-morrow the 
grandchild of Mr. Darracote, by proving that she is the 
grandchild, might be declared the heiress of his estate. 
That is entirely possible, and in such a case I should 
have the pleasure of paying you half a million for 
nothing.” 

“ You are perfectly aware that the child of whom 
you talk has no money and no friends to fight her 
case — if she has one.” 

There, again, you are mistaken. Such a case 
never fails to find those who will take it up, if only as 
a matter of speculation. I chance to know that a man 
is at present in Australia collecting evidence with 
regard to it.” 

“ And if he finds proof that she is really Mr. Darra- 
cote’s grandchild?” 

‘‘Then Miss Darracote will be advised to com- 
promise. The fortune, as you have mentioned, is 
large enough to divide.” 

Mrs. Treherne rose to her feet. 

“ I see that you have made your plans,” she said ; 
“ and prepared, as you imagine, for all emergencies, 
even to the point of deciding to give up half the 
fortune, if necessary. But you have not reckoned 
with me, Gerard Hastings ; and reckon with me you 
shall ! I have an old and a long score to settle with 
you, and we will settle it now. Either agree to pay 
my price for this paper or understand that you will 
have no chance to retain any of the fortune ; for I 
shall take the paper to Irma as soon as I return to 
Argyle. Since she will probably have the real heiress 

25 3S5 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


there, — as an interesting object of charity, — the 
scene will not be without its dramatic aspects. You 
can come and witness it if you like.” 

Again there was a brief pause. Then Hastings 
said sternly: 

“ What do you mean by talking of * the real heiress 
there ’ — at Argyle ? ” 

“ I mean exactly what I say,” Mrs. Treherne an- 
swered. “By some means — through the officious- 
ness of the priest, I believe — Irma has heard of her, 
even met her, and has gone to-day to bring her to 
visit Argyle, — all as a work of charity. It could not 
possibly have been better arranged on the stage. 
Fancy the scene when I enter with my paper, — ‘ Be- 
hold your cousin, the true heiress of the wealth you 
have found so burdensome ! How delightful that you 
can lay it down, return to Bohemia, and perhaps at 
last find consolation with your artist — ’ ” 

“ It is unfortunate,” said Hastings, calmly, “ that 
certain inherited and frequently misplaced instincts 
of chivalry prevent men from dealing with women 
like you as they deserve to be dealt with.” 

She lifted her shoulders, bitter mockery in the ges- 
ture as in her glance and tone. 

“ I am well aware that you would like to strangle 
me,” she said ; “ and there have been cases on record 
where those instincts of chivalry of which you speak 
have not prevented something of the kind. But this 
is idle talk, and I wish to leave. Decide at once — 
will you pay my price, or shall I go to Irma?” 

Hastings drew his breath hard, but only for an 
instant. 

“ I will pay your price ! ” he said. 

386 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


VI 

T he village of Woodburn, where Father Thorne 
had told Irma that she would find Peter Wil- 
kins and his charge, was one of those places suffi- 
ciently numerous in the neighborhood of expanding 
cities which have undergone changes so great as 
practically to amount to transformation. Originally 
a pretty, quiet country hamlet, it had become what 
some of its inhabitants proudly called “ a manufactur- 
ing suburb ” of the city, which had stretched out one 
hand, as it were, and drawn it forever away from 
dreamy quietness and leafy beauty to turmoil and 
ugliness. This turmoil of great works, where the noise 
of machinery, the throbbing of engines, sounded from 
morning to night, and this ugliness of long lines of 
houses, depressingly and sordidly alike, had, however, 
spared a little of the old Woodburn. A small stream 
divided the village, and on the side where railroad 
and trolley tracks did not enter, there remained a few 
broad, tree-shaded streets, and houses of the old type, 
— square, comfortable, substantial, and embowered in 
shade. This was the side nearest the church ; and 
when Irma reached it she bade her coachman drive 
slowly, and her footman get down and inquire for the 
cottage of Mr. Wilkins. 

It was not difficult to find. Very near the edge of 
the village, and consequently most remote from its 
manufacturing portion, the man paused at the gate of 
one of the old-fashioned houses, and, when the car- 
riage drew up, reported that he was informed Mr. 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Wilkins lived here. For whom did Miss Darraccte 
wish that he should ask? 

Miss Darracote replied that she would herself go 
in and make her inquiries. A moment later she was 
walking up a short, box-bordered path to the door of 
the house. At her ring it opened quickly, and an 
elderly woman with a pleasant, homely face stood 
before her. 

“ Good-morning ! ” said the young lady, with her 
air of charming courtesy. “ I am told that Mr. Wil- 
kins lives here.” 

He ’s boarding here,” the woman answered, her 
eyes wandering from the graceful figure to the car- 
riage at the gate and then back again. ” But he ’s 
not in at present. He mostly goes to the city this 
time of day.” 

“ I am sorry that he is not at home, but I have not 
really come to see him,” Irma said. “ I have come to 
see a little girl — his grandchild.” 

“Do you mean Lily Vidal?” the other inquired, 
with something of surprise in her tone. 

“I suppose so,” was the reply; “I really do not 
know her name. All that I know is that she is Mr. 
Wilkins’ grandchild, and — yes — I think I heard him 
call her Lily.” 

“ It ’s bound to be Lily Vidal, for there ain’t any 
other Lily here ; nor, for the matter of that, any other 
child,” the woman said in an argumentative tone. 
“ But she is n’t Mr. Wilkins’ grandchild — in fact, I 
don’t believe she ’s any relation to him at all. He ’s 
only her guar^^^;/.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Irma. This was unexpected informa- 
tion; and although it might have seemed that it 
388 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


was a matter of no importance to her what relation 
the child bore to the old clerk, she had a curious con- 
sciousness that in some manner it was important. A 
recollection of Mrs. Treherne’s manner, of Mrs. Tre- 
herne’s singular sayings and more singular laughter, 
came back to her. Her eyes opened with a slightly 
startled expression on the woman who stood looking 
at her ; but the pause was only momentary. In an 
instant she recovered herself. “ Then I should like to 
see Lily Vidal, if you please,” she said. “ I have 
heard that she is ill.” 

“ She ain’t ever what you ’d call real well,” the 
woman answered ; “ and to-day she ’s a little more 
ailing than usual, but I don’t know as it’s anything 
serious. She ’s dreadful fretful and mopey, though, 
and it ’ll be a good thing for her to have somebody to 
cheer her up a bit. Walk this way, miss ! ” 

She opened a door on one side of the passage 
which ran through the house, and introduced Irma 
into a large, sunny room comfortably furnished in old- 
fashioned style, with a few modern additions, no doubt 
provided by Peter Wilkins himself. On one of these 
— a broad lounge, plentifully strewn with cushions — 
reclined the child whom Irma had seen at the church 
door. It struck the girl at once that she was more 
sallow and more thin than she had been at that time ; 
in fact, there was an aspect of painful attenuation 
about her ; and the hands which were languidly ar- 
ranging the toilette of a large doll were like claws in 
their lack of flesh. She looked up as the door 
opened ; and at the words, “ Here ’s a lady come to 
see you, Lily,” a flash of pleasure shone in the pale 
blue eyes which rested on Irma. 

389 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

*‘0h, it’s the lady I told you about, Mrs. Miller,” 
she cried, “ who asked me to go to Argyle ! You did 
ask me, didn’t you?” she continued, directly address- 
ing Irma. “And you meant it, didn’t you? Mrs. 
Miller says you never meant it, — that ladies like you 
promise things and then forget all about them. 

“Now, Lily!” remonstrated Mrs. Miller. “You 
should n’t say such things as that. I told you that 
ladies sometimes made promises and then forgot em, 
as we’re all liable to do. So you’re Miss Darra- 
cote?” she went on, looking at Irma with frank curi- 
osity. “ I was wondering who you might be. And 
I 'm sure it ’s very kind of you to come to see the 
child, who ’s set her heart greatly on going to Argyle.” 

“ Mr. Wilkins should not have hesitated to gratify 
her,” said Irma. “ I asked her if she did not want to 
see the place, and I certainly meant what I said. It 
was an invitation, not a promise.” 

Lily nodded her head. 

“Yes, that’s what it was, — an invitation, not a 
promise,” she repeated. “ So you see, Mrs. Miller, 
you made a great mistake ; and Wilkie did, too. He 
kept telling me the lady never meant it; but I knew 
she did.” 

“ And you were right,” said Irma, sitting down 
beside the couch, and smiling into the pinched little 
face. “You were the only one who did me justice.” 

“ That ’s because I like you,” said Lily, promptly ; 
“ and I like you because you are just awfully pretty.” 
She suddenly leaned forward and threw her thin arms 
around the girl’s neck. “ Oh, I wish — I wish that I 
could have somebody as pretty as you are with me 
all the time 1 ” she cried. 


390 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Astonished as Irma was, she was even more deeply 
touched. Her heart melted with tender pity for the 
child, whose sense of some deep need found expres- 
sion in that outburst. It was to her ear as pathetic as 
the clasp of the stick-like arms about her neck. She 
put her own arms around the small figure, and kissed 
the mouth, the lips of which felt dry and parched as 
if with fever. 

“ You shall have somebody quite as pretty as I am 
with you, if not all the time, at least very often,” she 
said, trying to speak lightly. “ For I will come to see 
you, and you shall visit me at Argyle. Indeed, that is 
what I am here for now. Since you would not accept 
my invitation and go to Argyle yourself, I have come 
to take you there.” 

“ To take me ! ” The child’s face was a study of 
mingled amazement and delight. “Do you really 
mean it? But — but I can’t walk except a very little. 
I ’m not strong, you know.” 

“ I know, but you need not walk farther than the 
gate. My carriage is there. We shall go in that.” 

“ Your carriage ! ” Lily twisted herself around until, 
through a window near by, she could see the carriage 
with its champing horses. At the sight her whole 
face became irradiated. She sprang up from the 
couch, tottering a little from weakness as she stood 
on her feet. “ I want my jacket and hat at once ! ” 
she cried. “ Please, Mrs. Miller, get them for me — 
quick ! ” 

“ Lord bless us ! the lady ’s in no such hurry as 
that,” said Mrs. Miller. “It’s her own carriage: 
it ’ll wait. And I don’t really know as I ought to 
let her go. Miss,” she added apologetically. “ Mr. 

391 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Wilkins always charges me on no account to let her 
go anywhere when he ’s away. He ’s very particular ; 
and since I ’m trusted with her — ” 

“ I understand,” Irma said, as she paused. “You 
are quite right. I will come another time when Mr. 
Wilkins is at home. Lily will be content to wait, I 
am sure, since I promise that I will certainly come.” 

“ No ! ” said Lily, violently. “ I ’ll not wait. I ’ll 
go now.” She frowned at Mrs. Miller and stamped 
her foot. “ You ’ve got nothing to do with me ! I 
don’t mind you unless I want to ; and I don’t mind 
Wilkie unless I want to, either ! I will go, — I ’ll get 
my jacket and hat myself.” 

She ran across the room and began to pull open a 
drawer; while Mrs. Miller and Irma looked at each 
other. 

“ She’s got such a temper as never was,” the former 
said in a confidential tone. “ If she sets her head, it ’s 
just as well to save time and trouble by letting her 
have her own way at once. That ’s what the old 
gentleman does, so you had better take her.” 

“ I think not,” said Irma. “ I don’t like to assume 
the responsibility, since Mr. Wilkins objects to her 
going out. And he might blame you.” 

“ It would n’t matter much if he did,” Mrs. Miller 
replied ; “ but when I tell him she got into one of her 
tantrums, he ’ll know it could n’t be helped. If you 
left her now, she would sob and cry and rage till she 
made herself sick. That ’s how it always is, and so 
Mr. Wilkins don’t never cross her. Besides, I have n’t 
any doubt he ’d like her to go to Argyle. She ’s been 
fretting about it so much, and talking of the pretty 
lady day in and day out.” 


392 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


** I wish I had known ! ” said Irma, regretfully. “ I 
would have come for her long ago.” 

“ Oh, better late than never ! ” was the cheerful re- 
joinder. “ Now I might as well help her put on her 
things. Though she is such a little spitfire, I ’m glad 
she 's to have the pleasure she ’s wanted so long.” 

So the jacket w^as buttoned around the frail little 
figure, the hat set on the flowing yellow hair above 
the thin, sallow face; and, leaving a message for Mr. 
Wilkins to the effect that she would bring Lily back 
in the afternoon, Irma took the child out to the car- 
riage, and they were soon driving toward Argyle. 

Although not without the slightly uneasy feeling of 
one who has taken in charge a small wild beast, sub- 
ject to unexpected outbreaks of an alarming descrip- 
tion, and with an embarrassing uncertainty as to how 
such outbreaks if occurring are to be controlled, Irma 
found herself enjoying the child’s intense pleasure in 
this sudden diversion in her monotonous life. It was 
the pleasure of one who possesses a nature passion- 
ately craving amusement, excitement, beauty, and lux- 
ury, — the artistic temperament, in short ; or at least 
one form of that temperament, which knows many 
variations. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Lily sank 
back on the dark-blue cushions of the victoria, and 
felt the delightful action of the springs, as the horses, 
stepping up to their noses, moved briskly off. 

“ Oh, is n’t this nice ! ” she exclaimed. “ I like it 
a great deal better than the trolley, where Wilkie 
takes me riding. He says that he can’t afford car- 
riages ; although I have been in a carriage some- 
times, but not a carriage like this. Is it far to Argyle, 
Miss Darracote? ” 


393 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“No,” answered Irma, reassuringly. “You will 
not have time to be tired. We shall be there very 
soon.” 

“I’m sorry!” said the child, with another sigh, 
this time not of satisfaction. I am not afraid of 
being tired. I wish it was far — very far.” 

“Do you like driving so much?” the girl asked 
gently. “Then you shall have a long drive before 
you return home this afternoon. But now we will go 
immediately to Argyle ; for I do not want to run any 
risk of tiring you, since you are not well, and I have 
stolen you away from your — from Mr. Wilkins.” 

“ Oh, he won’t mind I ” replied Lily. “ He ’ll be 
glad for me to go to Argyle. We ’ve talked of it 
often, and he always promised to take me some day, 
but he never would agree that the right time had 
come. And, anyhow, he could n’t have taken me 
like this I ” she added, with another nestling motion 
into the cushions of the carriage. 

When they entered the Argyle gates and the beau- 
tiful grounds spread around them, still more when 
they drew up at the entrance, and, descending, 
passed into the spacious hall, and thence to a room 
which seemed to the eager eyes gazing on it for the 
first time a very temple of things exquisite and lux- 
urious, the child, who had been silent under these 
multiplying impressions, summed up all that she felt 
in one cry of admiration and longing : 

“ Oh, Miss Darracote, I wish I could live always at 
Argyle 1 ” 

A few hours later, worn out with sight-seeing and 
her own intense interest and excitement therein, 
394 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Lily lay sleeping on a couch in Irma’s chamber; 
while Irma herself, seated at a little distance, found 
her eyes and her thoughts persistently straying from 
the book open in her hand to the face that was thrown 
into relief by the deep color of the silken cushions 
upon which it rested. 

Even in sleep, what a pitiful little face it was — so 
unchildlike in expression, so keen, so eager for all 
the things of life ; yet tired and worn, as if they had 
been already attained and exhausted ! And what 
the face expressed in sleep, the shrill sharp voice, 
with its edge of discontent, had been pouring into 
Irma’s ears, as the two went through gardens and 
greenhouses ; and the child’s pleasure in seeing had 
been plainly equalled or surpassed by her longing to 
possess. Some words of warning which Hastings 
had uttered occurred to Irma as she perceived this. 
“ Believe me, it does no good to give people glimpses 
of things which they can never possess,” he had re- 
marked. “ What has the grandchild of Peter Wilkins 
to do with Argyle? By showing it to her, you will 
only make her dissatisfied with her own lot and her 
own home.” 

Irma remembered that she had questioned this, 
drawing upon her personal experience to confute the 
speaker; but she was now forced to acknowledge 
that he had been right at least in this case. No 
doubt there were natures peculiarly subject to the 
temptations of envy and discontent, — natures like 
that of this child, consumed with longing for gifts of 
fortune far beyond their reach, and upon whom the 
sight of the things for which they longed acted like 
an evil stimulant. There was no doubt that when 
395 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


she returned to Woodburn, to Peter Wilkins and Mrs. 
Miller, Lily Vidal would be many degrees more fret- 
ful and hard to manage, because rendered many 
degrees more discontented by her visit to Argyle. 

“ I have made a mistake and done harm instead of 
good,” Irma thought, as she watched the child. “ She 
will certainly not be the happier for this experience. 
Poor little creature ! How young she is to be so 
filled with desire for what Camilla calls ‘ the cham- 
pagne of life’! Where does she get it? And who 
is she anyway? What has this old man Wilkins to 
do with her, since she is not related to him ? And 
what claim has he upon the Darracote estate? Why 
did he come to see me, and why did Mrs. Treherne 
tell a falsehood in order to send him away? Why 
did she speak of a ^ story,’ and why did she laugh so 
strangely? And — and why did Gerard ask me to 
have nothing to do with this child?” 

She sat lost in thought, in the silence of the sunny 
chamber, her grave, dark eyes fastened upon the 
child, in whom, or in the mystery surrounding whom, 
she felt that the answer to all these questions lay. 
Again a chill of apprehension touched her. What 
did it mean? What was the story which was con- 
cealed, or at least withheld, from her? She suddenly 
said to herself that she would know. It was her duty 
to know; for, as she had said to Mrs. Treherne, it was 
to her alone that, together with the Darracote fortune, 
had come the responsibilities attached to the same. 
And should she evade any of those responsibilities, 
turn aside from any knowledge which might lead to 
the fulfilment of a duty, however embarrassing or 
painful such knowledge might be? 

396 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


She lifted her head a little proudly. They did not 
know her who fancied such a thing possible. Hast- 
ings had meant to shield her from annoyance, — she 
was sure of that, and grateful for his thoughtfulness. 
But she would tell him that she had no desire to 
secure immunity from trouble at the cost of ignoring 
any claim upon her, or closing her eyes to any 
human need. Because of her promise, she would 
not ask Peter Wilkins for his story : Hastings should 
tell it to her himself ; but she would not longer be 
kept in ignorance. On that point her resolve was 
firmly taken. 

And even while she so thought and so resolved, the 
whole matter was taken out of her hands. Fate, in 
the odd guise of a French maid, entered and laid a 
card before her, saying: 

“ The gentleman awaits Mademoiselle in the library.'* 


VII 

I RMA rose to her feet with an exclamation of 
pleasure, for the name on the card was that of 
Norbert. She had entirely forgiven all that he had 
said to wound and pain her at their last meeting, 
and her faithful heart desired nothing more than the 
renewal of their old friendship. Nor did she doubt 
that he had now come to renew it ; to ask her, per- 
haps, to overlook his rash judgment of one whom 
she loved; at all events, to express his tardy wishes 
for her happiness. Calling Margherita, she bade 
her bring her work and sit with the sleeping child 
until her return. Then she ran lightly downstairs. 
397 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

When she entered the library, the sweet kindness 
and brightness of her face struck Norbert like a 
blow. He was standing near a window with his 
back turned to it; so that, the light being full upon 
Irma as she advanced, he saw not only the cordiality 
of, her welcome, but something more, something 
which artist-eye and lover-instinct together divined 
to be the abiding gladness of one who carried about 
with her a joy which nothing could touch, for an 
instant his heart failed him. To shatter this beau- 
tiful content, to end this visible happiness, seemed 
more than he could do. But there followed quickly 
the reaction of indignation, rendered more fierce 
by the sight of happiness which rested upon decep- 
tion. For thought of self seemed swept away from 
him. So much it is but fair to say. He was ab- 
sorbed in thought of the girl before him, who was 
giving the great treasure of herself, of her tender, 
passionate heart, to one who made a bargain to de- 
ceive and betray her. The recollection of that bar- 
gain was to Norbert as a consuming fire driving 
him on. To spare Irma the knowledge of it would 
be to deliver her over not only to a man who was a 
mercenary and dishonorable schemer, but also to a 
position of dishonesty, — of holding what was not 
justly her own. Would he ever have deserved her 
friendship and that of her father if he could do this .? 
— if, to spare her suffering, he left her to the sweet- 
ness of a happiness which had no more stable foun- 
dation than a lie? 

And while these reflections were passing through 
his mind, Irma, coming forward with that light of 
pleasure on her face, was saying: 

398 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


‘‘You are just in time to make your peace for your 
long absence. Another day and it might have been 
difficult.” 

Then, as they shook hands and he was forced to 
emerge from the shadow in which he had been stand- 
ing, she uttered an exclamation. “ Have you been 
ill.?” she asked quickly. “You are looking very 
badly.” 

“Am I?” he returned indifferently. “No, I 
have not been ill — at least not in body. And ill- 
ness of spirit does not matter.” 

“But that is what matters, most of all,” she said, 
looking at him with solicitude. “ Illness of body is 
a trifle compared to illness of spirit. Sit down and 
let us talk. Why have you been unkind and stayed 
away so long.? ” 

“Because I had no alternative but to stay away,” 
he answered. ** How little you understand or care 

what I have suffered, that you can ask such a 

question ! ” 

“ Do you think I have not cared .? ” she said. “ Ah, 
you do not know ! More than I can express has been 
taken away from my happiness by the thought that 
it has cost you pain. I have wanted to tell you so, 
but you would give me no opportunity.” 

“ What earthly good would your telling me so have 
done.?” he cried, with the sharpness of one who is 
pushed beyond the limits of endurance. “Do you 
think I don’t know that you are sorry, — sorry as 
you would be if you saw a stray dog in pain, much 
less a man whom you have held as a friend .? But 
expressions of sympathy don’t help anything which 
one has to bear; and, since I could not trust myself 
399 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

to come and play a part, — offer congratulations, 
pretend that I was not badly hurt, — I thought it best 
to stay away. I have n’t come now to talk of myself. 
What I feel is a matter of no importance. I have 
come” — he paused a moment, as if choking, then 
went on almost violently — “to make you suffer — 
to make you hate me, perhaps, — but, all the same, 
to fulfil a duty.” 

These last words, and his expression of counte- 
nance as he uttered them, filled Irma with some- 
thing more than surprise. A horrible fear rushed 
upon her with sickening force. An instinct clearly 
told her that this man had indeed come, not to utter 
selfish complaints, nor to offer conventional good 
wishes, nor yet to make vague accusations, but to 
tell her something definite and concrete, which 
would try her powers, and perhaps her faith, to the 
utmost. And as she felt this, her soul braced itself 
to hear him. Her face was pale, but set with a 
firmness which brought out all the fine clearness of 
its lines. When she spoke, her voice was very 
calm. 

“ I do you the justice to believe that you have no 
desire to make me suffer,” she said. “ And certainly 
I shall not hate you for fulfilling a duty, although 
I do not perceive how you can have a duty to fulfil 
toward me. But whatever it is — whatever you have 
come to say — ■ let me hear it at once.” 

“ Yes, that is best,” he assented. “ There ’s noth- 
ing which will make what I have to tell easier for 
you to hear, so I had better tell it quickly. Only I 
should like you to believe that I am not thinking of 
myself in this matter, and that I am sorry — ” 

400 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


She interrupted him with a gesture which was 
superb in its setting aside of idle futilities. 

‘*As you remarked a moment ago, expressions of 
sympathy — or sorrow — don’t help anything which 
one has to bear,” she said. “And how does it 
matter whether you are thinking of yourself or not ^ 
You have come, it appears, to tell me something. 
Therefore tell it.” 

Her tone was peremptory to the point of command, 
and the eyes under their level brows were equally 
compelling. Here was no shrinking girl to be 
pitied and spared, but a woman all in arms to meet 
and resist what she divined to be an attack upon the 
honor of the man she loved. Perhaps this attitude 
of hers helped the man before her in his self-imposed 
task as nothing else could possibly have done. 

“ I was only about to add that I am sorry it should 
fall to me to tell you such a story,” he said. “But, 
briefly, here it is. I went this morning to Mr. 
Hastings’ cottage to work upon the picture I have 
undertaken to paint for him, and which I am ex- 
tremely anxious to finish. While he was giving a 
sitting for his portrait, a servant came in and said 
that a lady had driven up to the door and wished to 
speak with him. He went out to see her; and I, 
remembering some things which I had heard, thought 
that I would learn who she was. You do not ap- 
prove of that,” — he had caught a quick flash of sur- 
prise and scorn in the dark eyes, — “but there were 
reasons why I felt impelled to gain the knowledge. 
I went into the next room and glanced through a 
window. I found that the lady was Mrs. Treherne.” 

He paused for an instant, but Irma did not speak. 

26 401 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Perhaps she started a little at sound of a name 
which possibly she had not expected to hear, but 
otherwise there was no change in her position or the 
expression of her face. She knew that this was only 
prefatory, and she waited for what was to come. 

''After a minute or two,” Norbert went on, " Mrs. 
Treherne left her carriage, and I saw that, together 
with Mr. Hastings, she was coming into the house. 
I returned to the painting-room — which you prob- 
ably remember is just behind the drawing-room. 
They came into the last, and I — heard what they 
said.” 

There was no mistaking now the expression in the 
eyes fastened upon him. 

" And you listened? ” the girl asked incredulously. 

He threw back his head defiantly. 

"Yes, I listened. Is not a man justified in lis- 
tening to a plot against his life.? And this was 
more — far more. It was a plot against your — ” 

" Stop ! ” The word was like a bullet, and as she 
uttered it Irma rose to her feet, pale, proud, indig- 
nant. " I will hear nothing more,” she said. " You 
insult me by thinking that I would receive any 
information obtained in such a manner. I will not 
listen to another word.” 

"Ah, but you must — you shall!” said Norbert. 

Her scorn made him reckless of everything 
except the attaining of his object. He stepped for- 
ward and, hardly knowing what he did, caught her 
wrist. "It is for your own sake. You may think 
what you please of me, but you shall listen!” he 
said. And then he hurried on : " Mrs. Treherne 
had come to tell Mr. Hastings that she holds a 
402 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

will, made by Mr. Darracote on his death-bed, 
which gives his property to a child — his grandchild 
— who is in some way connected with a man named 
Peter Wilkins. This will she offered to sell to 
Hastings. He told her that, being informal, it was 
legally worthless, and that he had known of the 
child’s existence all the time. Then she threatened 
to bring the paper to you, saying that you would 
recognize a moral if not a legal obligation in it ; 
and, to prevent her doing this, he made a bargain 
with her, — agreed to pay half a million out of your 
fortune as her price for surrendering the will to 

himy 

The hurrying, emphatic tones ceased, and with the 
last words the imperious grasp on Irma’s wrist 
relaxed. For an instant two faces, equally white 
and set, regarded each other silently. Then the 
girl lifted her hand and pointed to the door. 

Go ! ” she commanded. Whether your story be 
true or not, this house is mine for the present, and 
there is no place in it for a spy.” 

He recoiled, as if that outstretched hand had struck 

him. 

‘Hrma!” he cried. “Do you not understand, — 
do you not see.? It was to save you that I did this 
thing. Except by such means, how could I have 
proved to you the unworthiness of the man you 
have promised to marry.? Before God, I repeat, I 
was not thinking of myself; I was thinking only of 
you, whom these schemers were bargaining to de- 
ceive — to betray into holding what is not your own. 
There seemed — there was no other way. It was for 
you I did it.” 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Not only his words — his voice, his eyes, pleaded 
passionately for comprehension and forgiveness. 
But the face which never before had been turned on 
him save in kindness and gentleness now met his 
gaze like a tragic mask — beautiful, inexorable, stern 
as fate. 

“ If, ” said Irma, ” “ it has come to this — that what 
you feel for me drags you down to dishonorable acts 
— it is time that our paths should part. In any 
light — for any reason — what you have done is un- 
pardonable. Do not ask me to pardon it, but go ! ” 
He looked at her a moment longer, saw that further 
appeal would indeed be useless, and, turning, went. 


VIII 


HE soft spring sunshine had tempted Father 



Thorne out into his garden. It was not a 


very extensive garden; but a number of fruit-trees 
just bursting into blossom, and a few beds and bor- 
ders filled with violets, crocuses, and hyacinths, made 
it a pleasant spot; especially on this afternoon, when 
every breath of air was an invitation of Nature. The 
priest had been saying his Office as he walked up 
and down the path which extended through the 
middle of the ground; but now the breviary was 
closed, and he was free to bestow his attention on 
the flowers, of which he was very fond; especially 
on some Roman hyacinths which were blooming 
earlier than usual. He was standing before the bed, 
contemplating these and debating with himself 
whether or not he should pull some of them, when 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


the sound of a step on the gravel made him turn, 
and he saw Miss Darracote advancing toward him. 

** Susan told me that I would find you here, Father. 

I hope I do not disturb you,” the young lady said, 
glancing at the breviary in his hands. 

‘‘No I have finished my Office,” he replied. “I 
am now enjoying my flowers. I am sure you have 
nothing lovelier than these at Argyle. ” 

“I don’t know,” she said absently. “There are 
.acres of hyacinths — I saw them this morning.” 

“Great, double, top-heavy things, such as gar- 
deners delight in,” he observed, with a sniff of con- 
tempt. “I care nothing for them. These are the 
only hyacinths which possess any beauty or grace. 
Because they are graceful and because they are 
Roman they suit he added with a smile; “so 

I will give you a few.” 

He bent over the bed as he spoke; but before he 
could break any of the flowers, Irma laid her hand 
on his arm. 

“Never mind the hyacinths just now. Father,” she 
said. “ I want to ask you a question. ” 

Something in her tone, quiet though it was, made 
Father Thorne lift himself quickly and look at her. 
What he saw in her face put all thoughts of double 
or single hyacinths immediately and entirely out of 
his mind. 

“My child,” he said, “what has troubled you?” 

“What has troubled me,” she answered, “is 
beyond help. I have not come to talk of myself, 
but only to ask a question; for I am sure that you 
will tell me the truth. Father, who is Lily Vidal ? ” 

The unexpectedness of the question startled the 

405 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


priest. He did not answer for a moment, but stood 
gazing at her with evident hesitation. Then he said 
slowly : 

Yesterday I told you that I respected Mr. Wil- 
kins’ wishes in refraining from giving any informa- 
tion about the child, to which you replied that you 
felt no curiosity on the subject and would ask no 
questions. Yet now — ” 

‘‘Now I have learned — at least I have been told 

— something which I did not then suspect,” she said, 
as he paused. “And I must know if it is true. It 
is clear to me that it is my duty to ask, it is my 
right to know, who this child is.” 

“Yes, it is your right to know,” the priest agreed, 

— “that is, it is your right to know the facts in the 
case. Mr. Wilkins believes that she is the grand- 
child of the late Mr. Darracote; but the proof of 
this is insufficient, and Mr. Darracote himself 
never accepted it. ” 

“ Do you accept it } ” the girl asked. “ Do you 
believe that she is his grandchild.? ” 

Father Thorne spread out his hands deprecatingly. 

“I am not a lawyer,” he said; “and this is a 
question for lawyers to settle — a question purely 
of facts. It is possible that she is really the child 
of Mr. Darracote’s daughter, whose history you 
probably have heard, but we cannot close our eyes 
to certain circumstances which seem to throw serious 
doubt upon the claim. One is that she was never 
brought forward until after the death of her reputed 
mother, when the temptation to furnish an heir to a 
rich, childless man was sufficient to tempt unscru- 
pulous people to fraud. And Mr. Darracote, who 
406 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


was, I believe, a just as well as a shrewd man, be- 
lieving that the claim was fraudulent, never recog- 
nized it.” 

*‘Are you sure of that.? Is it not possible that on 
his death-bed he may have done so .? ” 

^^Ahl” Father Thorne ejaculated. *‘You have 
heard more than I fancied. Peter Wilkins declares 
that Mr. Darracote did accept the proof on his death- 
bed and wished to provide for the child. But we 
have only Peter Wilkins’ word for this; and, while 
I am sure that he is honest, I am not at all sure 
that he may not be mistaken; for he has made him- 
self the champion of this claim until he can see 
nothing, believe nothing, which is opposed to it. 
At all events, if Mr. Darracote was convinced, and 
wished to provide for the child, death prevented his 
doing so.” 

There was a pause. Irma looked away from the 
speaker; and as she gazed beyond the enclosure of 
the flowery little garden, at the distant hills, draped 
in the delicate mist of spring, and the tender, 
bending sky, she beheld, with something of a clair- 
voyant vision, what had truly occurred on that 
bygone night, — the struggle of the dying man to do 
justice, the inexorable touch of death overtaking 
him, and the mingled malice and greed which had 
frustrated his effort. The pathos of it touched her 
with a pity so deep, an indignation 'so strong, that 
she had no thought to give to the evil and pain which 
had been also brought upon herself. 

The priest meanwhile was watching her closely 
and a little curiously. He had admired her from 
the first, and from the first also had recognized the 
407 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

fine temper of her spirit and the elevation of her 
mind; but he divined, as others had failed to do, 
that there were depths in her nature which con- 
tained possibilities of surprise, and he felt that he 
did not know in what manner she would take the 
revelation which had been made to her and in which 
so much was involved. Therefore, when presently 
she turned her eyes again toward him, he was con- 
scious of the thrill of interest with which we await 
the unexpected. And it was the unexpected which 
came. 

“Mr. Wilkins was not mistaken,’^ she said. 
“ Mr. Darracote not only wished to provide for the 
child, but there is reason to believe that he did so 
— that there is a will in existence acknowledging 
her claim.” 

“How have you learned this?” the priest asked 
in astonishment. 

“I cannot tell you how I have learned it,” she 
answered slowly. “But there are many things 
which make me believe it; and if the paper is in 
existence it will soon be in my possession.” 

“Then you know where it is?” Father Thorne 
cried, with deepening astonishment. 

“Yes, I know where it is.” She paused for an 
instant, and then went on, answering a further inter- 
rogation in his glance: “There is no reason why I 
should spare one who has acted in the most treach- 
erous manner. Mrs. Treherne has the will. She 
was alone with Mr. Darracote when he died, and 
she kept it to serve her own interest.” 

“ I see! ” said the priest, drawing a deep breath. 

In fact, as if by a flash of intuition, he saw every- 
408 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

thing. No further explanation was necessary, — 
except, indeed, of the look of suffering on the girl’s 
face, the white rigidity of her features, the sadness 
akin to despair in the dark eyes. Was it possible, 
was it credible, that the threatened loss of her for- 
tune, of the wealth she had seemed to hold so 
lightly, could affect her like this.^ If so. Father 
Thorne felt that he had underrated the possibilities 
of surprise in her nature. Perhaps it was to satisfy 
himself on this point that, after a moment, he said: 

‘‘Mrs. Treherne’s motive for holding the paper is 
obvious; yet a will made in such a manner is in- 
valid. I am sure of that.” 

“ Are you } ” said Irma. “ It does not matter in 
the least. If this child is Mr. Darracote’s grand- 
child, and if he has expressed, however informally, 
his desire that she shall be his heir, it will be for 
me to fulfil his wishes. Thank God, I have the 
power to do so ! ” 

“You must do nothing rash,” replied F'ather 
Thorne, quickly. “It is necessary to remember 
that when Mr. Darracote wrote that paper he was 
not in a condition to exert his faculties of judgment, 
and we know that he could never have desired that 
his fortune should be given to one whose claim is 
based on fraud. Understand that I do not assert 
that this claim ts based on fraud. I only remind 
you that it may be; and therefore you must proceed 
cautiously, and be guided by the advice of those 
who know more and are better able to judge of the 
matter than yourself.” 

“Where shall I find them?” the girl asked; and 
in her voice was the same hopeless sadness as in 
409 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

her eyes. ^‘You forget that I am alone, that there 
is no one whom I can trust to advise me rightly.” 

*‘No one.? There is Mr. Kirby, Mr. Darracote’s 
lawyer, friend, executor, — you can surely trust him, 

I am confident that he will advise you honestly and 
well.” 

She shook her head. 

He will consider only what is legal,” she said. 
‘‘ But there are many claims in life which are not 
legal and yet are just. It is possible that this is 
one of them.” 

Father Thorne hesitated. Another name was on 
the point of his tongue. Should he utter it.? He 
almost feared to do so, and yet to ignore it would be 
to recognize what was merely an apprehension, an 
instinct, on his part. 

“ Mr. Hastings — ” he began, and then stopped 
abruptly; for the look on the face before him made 
further speech impossible. 

“We need not consider Mr. Hastings,” Irma said. 
“He, too, would regard the claim only in its legal 
aspect.” 

There was a silence. 

“Something has happened,” thought the priest, 
— “ something very serious I And now the question 
is, how is she to be prevented from doing something 
very foolish ? ” 

“Well,” he resumed presently, “you leave me no 
alternative but to mention myself. You know that 
/ will not regard the matter only in its legal aspect, 
because I am strictly bound to consider it solely in 
a moral light. Will you therefore accept me as an 
adviser? ” 


410 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


should be glad to do so,” she said, '‘only — I 
fear 'that even you would lean toward what you would 
conceive to be my side. But it is nof my side ! ” 
she cried, with a sudden note of passion in her voice. 
"Whoever is my friend will aid me, not only to help 
the helpless, to do justice, to fulfil the wishes of 
the dead, but to relieve my own life, my own soul, 
of the weight and responsibility of wealth, which 
corrupts every one exposed to its influence.” 

Father Thorne nodded slightly. It was not be- 
cause he was assenting to the last proposition, but 
because he was saying to himself, "Yes, there has 
been serious trouble ! ” Aloud he said gravely : 

" You are mistaken. Whoever is your friend will 
aid you to do solely what is right. But this does 
not mean casting away the wealth which is indeed 
a great responsibility, and as such to be accounted 
for to God, unless you are quite sure that you are 
justified in doing so. And you cannot be sure of 
this without further proof of the claim you seem so 
ready to accept.” 

" But where is such proof to be found > Only tell 
me, and I will spend any amount of money to 
obtain it.” 

"Some one is already spending money for that 
end,” Father Thorne answered. " Whether it is Mr. 
Kirby or another, I do not know. But you would 
have heard of this claim some time ago had not 
Mr. Kirby sent for Peter Wilkins and told him that 
an agent should go to Australia to gather all the 
evidence possible regarding the child’s parentage, 
on condition that he carefully refrained from^ bring- 
ing the matter to your notice until everything was 
411 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


known that could be known about it. Mr. Wilkins 
bound himself by a promise not to trouble you, and 
that is why T was unable to tell you who the child 
was for whom I asked your kindness. I can hardly, 
however, forgive myself for doing so, if it was the 
cause — " 

''No,” Irma interrupted. "Neither your request 
nor my taking the child to Argyle — for I did take 
her there this morning — had anything to do with 
the revelation which came to me so strangely, so 
suddenly — ” She broke off, looked away again for 
a minute, and then turned her eyes back to him. 
" But does it not seem as if there were something 
of fate in it.^” she asked. "Can we think it was 
merely an accident which sent her to Argyle on this 
day of all days ? Was it not as if she w^ere going 
to take possession of her rightful inheritance.^ It 
seemed so to me when I went upstairs and looked 
at her sleeping in my chamber. I could not think 
it was chance which had placed her there.” 

"It was your kindness,” said Father Thorne. 
"The rest was merely coincidence. Don’t suffer 
yourself to attach weight to things altogether acci- 
dental. Put sentimental considerations out of the 
question, and look at the matter — you must look 
at it — from a practical, common-sense point of 
view. You are in a position of great responsibility; 
and you know, as I know, that you desire only to 
fulfil its duties, its obligations to the living and to 
the dead, with exact conscientiousness. In order 
to do this you must avoid rash, impulsive action; 
and” — he spoke with great earnestness — "you 
must remember that nothing could be more unkind 
412 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


to this child than to make her fancy herself what 
perhaps she is not. Take her back to her home, and 
for the present leave her alone.” 

‘H cannot do that,” said Irma; “for when I 
roused her with the intention of bringing her with 
me, I found her very unwell, — much more unwell 
than she was this morning. The excitement and 
exertion of the day have been too much for her; she 
is feverish and exhausted. She must stay at Argyle 
for the present; if there were no question of her 
being anything beside a sick child, I should say that. 
But I promise that she shall hear nothing to rouse 
any hopes, false or otherwise, in her mind. Now 
I must drive to Woodburn and explain to Mr. Wil- 
kins why I have kept her. ” 

She turned as if to go; then, with a swift move- 
ment, faced around again toward the priest. 

“Father,” she cried appealingly, “pray for me! 
— pray that this may be true — that the burden may 
be lifted from me — that I may be set free to go 
away, far away, and to forget — above all, to 
forget — ” 

The priest put out his hand and laid it on hers 
with a gesture like a benediction. He had not 
needed this outburst to tell him that he was in the 
presence of a great suffering. 

“My child,” he said solemnly, “I shall pray for 
you with all my heart, but not as you ask. There is 
but one thing worth praying for in this world, hard 
as it sometimes sterns, and that is that the will of 
God may be done in and by us.” 


413 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


IX 

M rs. TREHERNE had not returned immedi- 
ately to Argyle after her interview with 
Hastings. Although triumphant and elated, she 
was also, she confessed to herself, somewhat shaken 
in her nerves by that interview, and felt that she 
would prefer to regain her ordinary composure 
before meeting Irma. She therefore drove into 
the city, lunched with a friend, went shopping in 
the afternoon, with an agreeable sense of security in 
making large bills, and did not return to Argyle 
until after Irma had left the house for her visit to 
Father Thorne. Hearing that Miss Darracote was 
out, she made no further inquiries; but going 
directly to her own room, put herself into a n^glig^, 
bade her maid bring her a cup of tea, and lay down 
to rest until dinner. 

Lulled by pleasant thoughts of old scores paid off, 
and by dreams of a prosperous future untroubled by 
any shadow of care, she had fallen asleep when she 
was roused by a knock at the door. She opened her 
eyes languidly. Who could be disturbing her.? 
“Come in!” she said, irritably and without stirring. 
But the next moment she rose to a sitting posture, 
out of the luxurious nest of cushions where she had 
been lying. For it was Irma who entered. 

This in itself was sufficiently astonishing; for 
these two, although living under one roof, had never 
been on terms of the least intimacy. But even more 
surprising than the visit was the appearance and 
manner of the girl, who walked across the floor and 
414 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

stood by the mantelpiece, facing the low couch 
on the other side of the fireplace, where Mrs. Tre- 
herne, in her wrapper of soft crimson silk, sat look- 
ing up with an air of amazement. 

It was an amazement well justified; for this was a 
new Irma who confronted her, — not the young 
heiress shrinking under the burden of her wealth, 
and regarding with pathetic eyes a bewildering 
world, to all the conditions and standards of which 
she was a stranger. This was a woman to whom the 
end of dreaming had come, who found herself face to 
face with the relentless realities of life, and whose 
soul rose up to meet even its greatest tragedy — 
which is the loss of love and the betrayal of faith — 
with a strength altogether heroic. For she had, as 
it were, set her foot upon her heart and bade it lie 
still, however torn with hopeless anguish it might 
be, until a duty was done which there, was none but 
her to do. 

“Pardon my disturbing you,” she said, with cold 
ceremoniousness. “ It is necessary that I shall speak 
to you without delay, but what I have to say can be 
said very briefly. I wish you to give me the will 
which Mr. Darracote wrote just before he died, and 
which you have kept in your possession ever since. ” 

Her voice was low, clear, and very quiet; but no 
passion nor violence could have added to the effect 
of these words. Every vestige of color left Mrs. 
Treherne’s face, and her eyes opened wide and 
startled. She attempted to speak, but it was neces- 
sary for her to make two efforts before she could 
stammer: 

“ I don’t know what you are talking about ! ” 

4T5 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ You know perfectly,” Irma answered in the same 
tone. ‘‘But, if you would like it made still clearer, 

I want the paper which you offered to Mr. Hastings 
this morning.” 

“ Ah ! ” It was with a cry of rage that the woman 
sprang to her feet. “ So he has broken his word to 
me and come X.o you to make his bargain! I might 
have foreseen that he would — the traitor ! ” 

“I have not seen Mr. Hastings,” Irma replied, 
“and I have heard nothing from him. But I know 
of your offer to him — ” 

“How do you know?” the other interrupted. 
“It is absurd to say that you have not learned it 
from himself, because no one else could tell you — 
no one ! ” 

“Do not be sure of that,” said the girl, gravely. 
“In order to frustrate wrongdoing, God sometimes 
permits that there shall be witnesses to our acts of 
whom we do not dream. You thought you were 
quite safe in betraying the trust of the dead ; but it 
was a crime too great to be suffered, and so the 
knowledge of it has come to me. How it has come 
does not matter. I know — that is enough. Now 
give me the paper.” 

There was a pause. Had Mrs. Treherne at this 
moment held a weapon with which she could have 
struck down the slender, fearless creature, there is 
little doubt but that she would have used it. She 
made a step forward, her hands clenched, her eyes 
blazing. 

“You are mad!” she cried. “I have no paper! 
How dare you insult me with such charges — such 
demands — ” 


416 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


She stopped suddenly. What was there in those 
dark eyes which seemed to make assertions useless 
and violence senseless } 

‘*This is folly,” returned Irma, with a strange 
sternness on her young face. “ It is certain that 
you have the paper, and it is equally certain that 
you will give it to me; for if I leave this room 
without it, I shall immediately send for Mr. 
Kirby. There is proof of your possession of it, 
and there are means by which you may be forced 
to surrender it. There are also penalties for 
theft.” 

“ Theft ! ” the other gasped furiously. 

“Was it anything else.? ” Irma asked. “Did you 
not steal the paper from the hand of a dead man, 
and have you not endeavored to use it to defraud 
the living and to enrich yourself.? You know how 
such actions as those are characterized. Having 
been guilty of them, why are you so foolish as to 
utter vain denials instead of doing at first what you 
must do at last, — that is, give up what you have no 
right to hold .? ” 

Her tone, at once imperious and contemptuous, 
made Mrs. Treherne feel that nothing was to be 
gained by further denial. There only remained to 
strike and sting this intolerable being, whom she 
would have liked to kill, had killing been possible. 

“ And if I acknowledge my possession of such a 
paper,” she said, “what have you to offer for it.? 
Mr. Hastings, as you may have heard, has offered 
half a million of your money.” 

She did not have the gratification of perceiving 
any sign of flinching under this blow on the pale, 

27 417 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

proud face. There are some wounds which only 
bleed inwardly, but they are the most deadly. 

“ You know well that I have nothing to offer you,” 
Irma answered. Why do you waste time and 
words in this manner? ” 

'' But, whether you have anything to offer or not, 
you will pay — and pay heavily ! ” said the other, 
vindictively. ‘^To lose both your fortune and your 
lover, — or the man you have fancied to be your 
lover, — you could not well pay a heavier price for 
anything than that.” 

‘‘You are mistaken,” returned the girl, with a 
sudden flash of fire in her eyes. ** I could pay a 
much heavier price. I could sell my honor and my 
conscience; I could betray both the dead and the 
living, as you have done.” There was a breathless 
moment of silence, and then she added, with the 
calmness she had before maintained : “ I have no 
bargain to make with you, and nothing to say to you 
beyond this, — give me that paper! ” 

“That you may destroy it, and enjoy your fortune 
and your lover without paying anything for them ? ” 
cried Mrs. Treherne, with a burst of scornful laugh- 
ter. “ Do you think I am deceived by your pretence 
of despising wealth, your pose of idealism and 
absurdity? I should be a fool — a greater fool than 
you have pretended to be — if I should put this paper 
into your hands without any security as to what you 
will do with it. No; if I must give it up, it shall 
be in such a manner that you may bid farewell 
forever to the Darracote fortune and to Gerard 
Hastings.” 

“You could not do me a greater service than to 
418 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


relieve me of a fortune which has taught me that 
there is no depth too low for men and women to fall 
through love of money,” Irma answered. She 
walked across the room and opened a writing-desk. 
“Sit down here,” she said; “put that paper in an 
envelope, seal and address it to Mr. Kirby. It shall 
be sent to him at once.” 

Again there was a pause, in which glance met 
glance; then Eleanor Treherne, recognizing a 
stronger will than her own, moved to the desk, sat 
down, picked up a pen, hesitated an instant, and 
flung it aside. 

“This is madness!” she exclaimed, looking up at 
the girl who stood beside her. “What secures me 
against exposure, against whatever legal penalties 
there may be, if I send the paper to himf' 

“Nothing secures you,” Irma replied. “But if 
you choose to give the paper to me, I will promise, 
little as you deserve it, that you shall not be exposed, 
nor suffer any other penalty than the penalty of your 
failure.” 

“Could there be any worse.?” asked Mrs. Tre- 
herne, bitterly. 

She hesitated a moment longer; then, turning, 
pulled out a drawer, pressed an inner spring, and 
from a recess hidden within drew forth a paper. 
Holding it in her hand, she looked up again at Irma. 

“You will not probably believe it,” she said; 
“for you are of the class of narrow-minded people 
who see nothing but wrong-doing outside of the 
path they have been trained to walk in ; but I felt 
that I had a right to take and to use this. It seemed 
to have been placed in my hands — I should say by 
419 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Providence if I believed in such a thing. For the 
old man who wrote it had not provided for me, as he 
could so easily have done. He left millions to 
strangers who had borne no part whatever in his 
life; and to me, who had been to him as a daughter, 
and whom he knew to be in need of means for actual 
support, he left only a pitiful annuity. I suspected 
that, even before I knew the contents of his will; 
and so when chance placed me alone with him, and 
made me the only witness to this '' — she struck the 
paper in her hand, — 'H resolved that I would fight 
for my own interest, that I would force him, even 
though he were dead, to provide for me ; and if not, 
that his own grandchild should share the poverty to 
which he condemned me. And do you know why 
he condemned me to it} " 

Her strange, vari-colored eyes were gleaming with 
excitement — or was it with triumph } — as she gazed 
at the tall, pale girl, who for the first time shrank 
back a little. For an instinct told her that this 
woman had power to wound her even more deeply 
than she had been wounded yet. 

‘^No,” she said, I do not know — and I do not 
wish to know. These statements have no interest 
for me.” 

*^But they should have interest for you,” Mrs. 
Treherne rejoined, “because they concern a person 
in whom you have manifested great interest. Let 
me tell you, then, that Mr. Darracote would have 
provided for me liberally had he not known that in 
such case Gerard Hastings would have married me. 
Probably you do not know that Gerard Hastings was 
my lover once } Every one else knows it, however; 

420 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


and any one of your acquaintances can tell you that 
it is true. If no one has told you of it before, it 
was only because your weakness for him was so very 
apparent from the first. Well, he was in love with 
me, and I liked him better than I liked or probably 
ever shall like any other man. But I was not rich, 
so he went away, and I married Ogden Treherne. 
I need not dwell on that episode; for the only thing 
which matters is that when Gerard Hastings grew 
tired of wandering about the world and came back, 
he found me a widow, here at Argyle, with an excel- 
lent chance of becoming Mr. Darracote’s heir. So 
he resumed his old position with me, and mean- 
while also paid court to the old man. I could see 
that he thought himself very secure in any event, 
whether I succeeded to the fortune or whether he 
did. It seemed to rest between us tv»^o. No one 
thought of anybody else; and although I knew that 
he was selfish and mercenary to the last degree, as 
his conduct toward me in the past had proved, he 
held my heart in his hands — and he knew it.” 

Her voice dropped on the last words, and silence 
followed. Whatever else was false in her speech, 
the last assertion to Irma’s ears rang true: “He 
held my heart in his hands — and he knew it.” A 
sense of deadly sickness, physical and mental, 
seemed to pervade the girl’s whole being. She had 
a vision of depths beyond depths of falsehood and 
treachery. She did not speak; she only put out 
one hand and laid it on the desk as if to sustain 
herself, though her eyes still met undauntedly those 
other cruel eyes watching her so closely. 

“But while we each had our dreams, Mr. Darra- 
421 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

cote made his plans,” Mrs. Treherne went on. 
“And it was no part of those plans that Gerard 
Hastings should marry me. He determined instead 
that he should marry you ; proposed the matter to 
him, found that he was willing — what ! you don’t 
believe it ? Ask Mr. Kirby, and you will find there 
is a letter in existence addressed to your father 
setting forth the plan. Mr. Hastings had influence 
enough to cause that letter to be suppressed, but 
every one knew that the whole matter was cut and 
dried before ever you saw the man whom you have 
foolishly dreamed to be in love with you. Well, 
you came, and it was evident from the first that he 
would have no trouble : that he had but to ask and 
to have. So there only remained for me to make 
what I could of this ” — she glanced again at the 
paper in her hand. If you had shown any sense, — 
if you had possessed any knowledge of the world, — 
I should have offered it to you. Since I was forced 
to take it to Gerard Hastings, I was determined he 
should pay well. For he owes me more — much 
more — than could be paid even by the half million 
he agreed to give. Remember that — you who are 
so full of high-flown sentiment — he agreed to give 
it!'' 

Irma shivered as, according to old superstition, 
we shiver when a careless foot passes over the spot 
of earth which will be our grave. Then she held 
out her hand. 

“If that is the paper,” she said, “give it to me 
and let me go.” 

But Mrs. Treherne held it as if unable to relin- 
quish what had meant so much to her. 

422 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


would not hesitate to destroy it,” she cried 
passionately, ** if it were not that by doing so I 
should be giving the fortune to you.” 

‘Hf you destroyed it this moment,” Irma replied, 
“you would not give the fortune to me. I shall not 
retain it a day longer than is necessary to establish 
the claim of the true heiress. Perhaps you do not 
know that she is under this roof at present.” 

“What! The child — ” 

“Yes, the child — Lily Vidal, Mr. Darracote’s 
grandchild. I understand now why you laughed 
when I spoke of bringing her here. It must indeed 
have seemed to you like a bit of melodrama — her 
claims, my unconsciousness, your power, as you fan- 
cied, to play with us like pawns for your own advan- 
tage. But something more than chance has defeated 
you, — something more than chance brought her 
into her grandfather’s house, and puts into, my hands 
this proof that he acknowledged her.” 

With the last words she took the paper from Mrs. 
Treherne’s grasp and opened it, — opened to scan 
with an indescribable sense of pity the almost 
illegible characters in which Mr. Darracote’s dying 
hand, driven by his imperious will, had striven to 
express his last wishes. Presently she folded the 
sheet again very carefully and looked at the woman 
before her. 

“I think,” she said quietly, “that you will pos- 
sibly feel with me that one who could be guilty of 
such a deed as this — of robbing, suppressing, selling 
the last effort to do justice of the helpless dead — 
has no right to remain under the roof of the man 
whose benefits were so repaid. To-morrow you will 

423 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

find another home. This, I think, is all that I 
have to say to you. ” 

She turned and moved away. A moment later the 
door had closed behind her. 


X 


S Irma walked slowly toward her own room, 



after leaving that of Mrs. Treherne, the 


sound of her name, unexpectedly spoken, made her 
start. A servant had approached with noiseless 
tread over the thick carpet of the corridor, and, 
when she looked around, said that Mr. Wilkins was 
below and begged to see her. 

She drew a breath, as of one pressed beyond 
endurance, and stood motionless for a moment. 
Almost unconsciously, but not the less intensely, 
she had craved a little solitude, — a little time in 
which to face the situation that, with every disguise 
torn from it, had now been presented to her; to 
decide how best to deal with its practical aspects; 
and, above all, to gather the forces of her soul to 
bear the agony of trust betrayed and wasted love, 
which it involved for herself. But it seemed that 
she was not to be allowed even this respite from the 
tense strain in which she had been holding herself 
ever since Norbert had come to her with his story. 
She must still act, still preserve outward composure, 
still keep a strong curb on emotion. Not yet was 
she to be allowed to look her own anguish in the 
face, to count up all that added bitterness to her. 
desolation. Drawing herself together, therefore, 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


with an outward gesture expressive of an inward 
gathering of the spirit’s strength, she went down- 
stairs. 

So to Peter Wilkins, waiting uneasily in the hall 
below, there came a vision descending the staircase, 
w'hich he never forgot, — the vision of a slender, 
stately girl, with wonderful dark eyes, dilated and 
glowing with a fire which had not robbed them of 
their sweetness. To the old man gazing upward 
this graceful presence brought a suggestion of all 
things charming and harmonious; even while its 
pale but noble beauty thrilled him with an indefin- 
able sense of loftiness and purity and — was it pain ? 
As he dimly asked himself the question, Irma 
reached the last of the broad, shallow steps and 
advanced toward him, holding out her hand. 

I am glad to meet you, Mr. Wilkins,” she said, 
with an air of gentle dignity. It would have been 
well if we had met earlier. Will you come into the 
library, where we can speak undisturbed.^” 

don’t wish to detain you. Miss Darracote,” 
Wilkins replied. ‘‘I am sorry that I was not at 
home when you kindly left a message for me about 
Lily. I have only called for her.” 

am afraid you think that I have taken a liberty 
in keeping her,” said Irma; “but she seemed so 
feverish and unwell when I was about to take her 
home that I thought it better she should remain, 
and I hoped you would agree with me. I believe 
that you will agree when you see her; for I have 
had her put to bed — but first I should like a few 
words with you. Come into the library, if you 
please. ” 

425 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Her tone made refusal to comply with the request 
impossible; and so, with evident reluctance, Wil- 
kins followed her into the library. The cause of 
this reluctance was an uneasy sense that by his 
presence at Argyle he was violating his agreement 
with Mr. Kirby, and he desired exceedingly to avoid 
anything which might lead to a further breaking of 
his promise. But when they entered the library, 
the appearance of the room brought to him so vivid 
a recollection of the manner in which he had been 
led there by Hastings on the night of Mr. Darra- 
cote’s death that for a moment he forgot everything 
else. Pausing, he looked around. It was as if the 
long interval were effaced; as if he had just arrived 
to make a last plea, a last appeal for justice; as if 
the master of all this stately house still lay upstairs 
gasping away the few hours of life which remained 
to him. He glanced at the girl, who, turning, faced 
him in the soft lamplight which filled the apartment. 
Involuntarily he spoke out his thought. 

'‘The last time that I was here,” he said, "was 
the night Mr. Darracote died.” 

"Ah!” said Irma, quickly. "Then you can tell 
me exactly what happened that night. You need 
not hesitate to do so,” she added, seeing the expres- 
sion of reserve which instantly appeared on his 
face; "for I have learned all that has unfortunately 
been concealed from me ever since my arrival here. 
I know that Lily Vidal is Mr. Darracote’ s grand- 
child, and I also know — what you probably do not 
— that he left a will acknowledging her claim and 
providing for her.” 

Peter Wilkins made a step forward, his whole 
426 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


appearance transfigured, his form quivering with 
excitement. 

‘^What — what!” he cried, stammering in his 
agitation. “ Do you really mean it ? But how have 
you learned it ? — how can it be } ” 

Irma held out to him the paper she had brought 
from Mrs. Treherne’s room. “Do you know Mr. 
Darracote’s writing.?” she asked. “Here is what 
he wrote just before he died.” 

Taking the paper from her, Wilkins opened and 
looked at it with an expression of almost stupefied 
wonder. In his wildest hopes he had never dreamed 
of this, — that Mr. Darracote, without waiting for 
the lawyer, who came too late, had with his own 
hand attempted to do the justice which was de- 
manded of him. Had he returned from the dead 
to do that justice in person, the shock of astonish- 
ment could hardly have been greater to his old 
clerk. With hands shaking like aspen leaves, the 
latter held the paper near the lamp on the massive 
library table by which they stood, and scrutinized 
it closely. Then he glanced up at Irma with a look 
of strangely mingled amazement, exultation, and 
awe. 

“It is his writing,” he said. “I would swear to it 
in any court. He must have written it just after 
I left him. But — but where has it been all this 
time.?” 

“I will tell you ' presently,” Irma said. “Now I 
should like you to sit down and tell me all that you 
know, — all the events of that night.” She herself 
sat down, as she spoke. “ I will not keep you long, 
but I wish to hear the story from your own lips. ” 

427 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Wilkins regarded her doubtfully for a moment. 
He did not understand her, any more than he under- 
stood by what possible means this undreamed-of 
document had come into her possession, nor what 
she meant by showing it to him in this manner. 
But it did not require any long consideration of 
the pale, beautiful young face to revive in him the 
feeling that here was a personality which compelled 
at once admiration and trust. He obeyed the ges- 
ture with which she indicated a chair, and, sitting 
down, plunged into his story. 

Not only the story for which she had asked — that 
of the night of Mr. Darracote’s death — but the 
longer story of his acquaintance with Lily Vidal, 
his passionate advocacy of her cause. Beginning 
with his meeting with the actor, who was her 
father, and his belief in the man's sincerity, he 
rehearsed all the attempts that he made, first to 
convince Mr. Darracote of the child’s claim upon 
him, and then to find the proof to support this 
claim; leading, finally, to the dramatic moment 
when, having the long-sought proof in his posses- 
sion, he hurried to Argyle only to hear that the man 
he wished to see was dying. And as he talked, Irma 
sat motionless, one slim hand supporting her cheek, 
her eyes fastened on his face, listening without a 
word or sign of interruption. Only when he men- 
tioned Hastings, when he described how but for 
him he would not have had the opportunity of seeing 
Mr. Darracote, the straight brows contracted as if 
in pain above the burning eyes. But she did not 
speak; and Wilkins, going on, told in detail of the 
scene in Mr. Darracote’s chamber; of the convic- 
428 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


tion forced at last upon the dying man, of his pas- 
sionate desire to act upon this conviction; of the 
messenger sent in haste for his lawyer, and of his 
(Wilkins’) meeting with Mrs. Treherne in the hall. 

Here for the first time Irma spoke. 

*Ht is all clear,” she said. ‘‘When you left her, 
Mrs. Treherne went to Mr. Darracote’s chamber. 
She was there alone with him when he wrote that 
will, and the idea occurred to her at once to keep 
and use it for her own advantage.” 

“ And that was why she did not wish me to see 
you, — why she sent me away with a lie ! ” said 
Wilkins, indignantly. “She had ///A all the time! 
What a vile, unprincipled woman I ” 

“ I have forced her to give it up,” Irma proceeded, 
“and I intend to place it immediately in the hands 
of Mr. Kirby. What value it has as a will I do not 
know, nor does it matter. Mr. Darracote’s grand- 
child is his rightful heir; and I shall resign my 
claim on the estate, — if indeed, in the face of that 
paper, I have any.” 

“You certainly have a claim,” said Wilkins, 
hastily. “You are in possession of the estate under 
a regularly executed will, while this is an informal, 
unwitnessed document. The utmost that could be 
asked of you would be to divide the fortune with 
Lily — ” 

Irma looked at him with a faint smile. 

“There will be no division,” she said, “no weigh- 
ing of mere technicalities. To me that paper has 
even more binding force because it is informal and 
unwitnessed. It is an appeal to one’s honor, to 
one’s pity — to everything most sacred in human 
429 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

feeling. And it cannot be recognized and acted 
upon too soon. Therefore Lily Vidal must remain 
here, in her grandfather’s house, which is her proper 
home.” 

“No, no!” Wilkins interrupted. “I cannot per- 
mit it. Miss Darracote, — I cannot allow you to act 
in this manner — without consulting your legal 
adviser, without consideration — ” 

“What consideration is needed to see a thing as 
clear as this?” she demanded. “And as for my 
legal adviser,— who has, it seems, known all along 
of the claim and kept the knowledge from me, — I 
have no advice to ask from him, but only instruc- 
tions to give. You need say no more, Mr. Wilkins. 
Nothing would induce me to retain any part of the 
Darracote fortune, now that I know the truth. ” 

“ But it is n’t — it is n’t either necessary or right ! ” 
Wilkins, somewhat to his own surprise, found him- 
self earnestly pleading. “ Mr. Kirby will tell you 
so, I am sure. And there is Mr. Hastings — ” 

Irma rose. Something in her manner, in the 
aspect of her face, hushed the words on his lips. 

“I do not think,” she said, “that we need discuss 
the matter further. Will you come now and see 
Lily?” 

Wilkins also rose, but before he could speak a 
servant appeared at the door. Mr. Hastings, he 
said, wished to see Miss Darracote. 

There was a moment’s silence. Then Irma looked 
at the old clerk. 

“Will you go up to Lily without me? ” she said. 
“This man will show you her room. I must remain 
here — to see Mr. Hastings.” 

430 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


XI 

I RMA told herself afterward that it was best, per- 
haps, that this moment of supreme trial had 
come upon her so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that 
she had no time to shrink, to dread, to prepare — 
hardly, it seemed to her, had time to breathe before 
Hastings was in the room, standing before her, 
holding her hands, saying eagerly, tenderly : 

‘‘ What a long day it has seemed without a sight 
of you ! Did you forget that you had an engagement 
with me this afternoon, that when I came you were 
gone ? ” 

‘'Yes — I forgot,” she answered. 

Her voice had a strange, constrained note in it 
which struck at once on his ear; and as she drew 
back, taking her hands gently but decidedly out of 
his clasp, he knew that something had happened, — 
that some knowledge had . come to her which she did 
not possess when he saw her last. He had not seen 
Peter Wilkins, so his thoughts flew to Mrs. Treherne. 
And yet it was difficult to suspect that Mrs. Tre- 
herne could have forgotten her own interest suffi- 
ciently to reveal matters which she, above all others, 
was concerned in guarding carefully. 

He had, however, little time for conjecture, since 
Irma went on speaking immediately. She was 
anxious to say what must be said before his influ- 
ence, of which she was intensely conscious, the mag- 
netism of his presence, his voice, his look, could 
render speech even more difficult. 

431 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“I forgot,” she repeated, '‘because I have had 
much to think of since I made the engagement. 
For one thing — Lily Vidal has been here to-day.” 

“Lily Vidal.?” he repeated, — for an instant 
puzzled, because the name was unfamiliar to him. 
Then he suddenly remembered Mrs. Treherne’s 
words of the morning : “ She will probably have the 
real heiress there ; ” and, remembering, understood 
what was meant. 

“You are speaking,” he said, “of the child, Peter 
Wilkins’ grandchild, whom you met at the church 
door.?” 

What a flash' of fire — indignant, scornful, re- 
proachful all at once — shone upon him from those 
dark, dilated eyes ! 

“No,” Irma answered, “I am speaking of Mr. 
Darracote’s grandchild, as you know well.” 

The tone and the glance were even more signifi- 
cant than the words. Hastings was a man whose 
mind always leaped to a situation, and he compre- 
hended at once that she had learned by some means 
much, if not all, which he had desired to keep from 
her. 

“ Why do you say that .? ” he asked. “ Why should 
you think that I know well what I do not know .? ” 

“ Why do I say that you know it well .? ” Irma 
repeated. “Simply because I have proof of your 
knowledge, and because I, too, share now in this 
knowledge, which it seems every one except myself 
has possessed all the time. I have learned not only 
of the claim made on behalf of this child that she 
is Mr. Darracote’s grandchild, but I have also 
learned that he acknowledged her on his death-bed. 
432 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


If you understand this, — I mean the completeness 
of my knowledge, — you will also understand the 
uselessness of further equivocation or attempted 
deception.” 

The last words stung more deeply than she in- 
tended. The blood mounted to Hastings’ forehead. 
He drew himself up with a movement of pride. 

“Your language is very clear,” he said; “but I do 
not yet understand what reason you have for believ- 
ing that I have ever deceived you. When we first 
talked of this child, I had no more idea than yourself 
that she had any connection with Mr. Darracote. 
Afterward I learned of the claim made for her; but 
this claim, as far as I know, has never been proved, 
and so I spoke of her as I fancied that you still knew 
her — as Peter Wilkins’ grandchild.” 

“ But why, when you learned of her claim, should 
you not have told me of it .? ” Irma asked, with some- 
thing of sternness in her voice. “Why should I 
have been kept in ignorance of what so nearly con- 
cerned me ? Was it not a deception when you asked 
me to have nothing to do with her, without telling 
me your reason for asking it.^ And again, why did 
you make such a request but because you distrusted 
me.? You feared that I might do something to 
endanger my possession of the fortune which was to 
be yours — through me. ” 

Never before had Gerard Hastings felt himself 
shrink before the gaze of man or woman, but he was 
conscious of shrinking now under the deep fire of 
those accusing eyes. It did not help him that his 
conscience, the easy conscience of a man of the 
world, supported him in all that he had done. As 
28 433 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

by a flash of illumination, he saw his acts, not 
according to the standards of conventional honor and 
expediency, but according to those of a nature 
trained to high beliefs and high purposes; to an 
exquisite sense alike of honor, equity, and duty. It 
had been easy to think lightly, with a touch of 
condescending admiration, of Irma’s ideals; but he 
learned now that these ideals were not mere visionary 
fancies in the girl’s life, but forces which so con- 
trolled and dominated it that whoever entered into 
that life must reckon with them. 

It was characteristic of the man, however, that 
notwithstanding this strange, interior sense of con- 
fusion, he bore himself with the composure which 
with him always increased rather than lessened 
where other men would have found occasion for loss 
of self-control. 

*‘You are very severe,” he said quietly, ‘‘and 
also unjust, both in what you charge and what you 
imply against me. Will you let me explain how far 
and in what manner you misjudge me.? ” 

She clasped her hands. 

“If you can do that,” she said, — “if you can 
make me see that I have misjudged you, I shall be 
more grateful than I have ever been in all my life 
before. ” 

He laid his hand on hers, with a gentle, compel- 
ling pressure. 

“ Do you think that it has been kind to judge me 
without first hearing what I had to say .? ” he asked. 
“ Have I not the right to as much confidence as that 
from you, — from you who in your thoughts deal so 
nobly with all the world ? Sit down and listen to me. ” 
434 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


She sank without another word into the chair 
from which she had risen before his entrance. And 
then, for the first time, he saw how white and spent 
1 she looked : how unlike the radiant girl from whom 
he had parted the day before. The last few hours 
seemed to have done the work of years on the 
countenance so sensitively formed for joy or pain; 
and yet her beauty had never touched him so deeply, 
had never appealed to him so strongly, as when he 
saw her face now, in relief against the dark back- 
I ground of the chair. Was it that for the first time 
I he recognized something besides its poetic grace 
I and charm, — for the first time saw the character 
i which gave it expression and meaning.^ 

He sat down beside her, but did not attempt to 
i touch again the hands now lying, still clasped to- 
gether, in her lap. An instinct told him that he 
must once more win her confidence before he could 
claim even the least of a lover’s privileges. And 
so he told his story. It was a very simple and 
direct narrative, reminding her in the first place 
of their meeting in the lane, when he had known no 
more than herself of any claimant of the Darracote 
name and fortune; of how by her request he had 
sought information about Peter Wilkins; how he 
had gone to Mr. Kirby, and from him learned who 
and what the child was whom the old clerk was 
protecting. 

‘‘You blame me for not coming to you directly 
with the information,” he added; “but stop a minute 
and think. What would have been gained by this 
except to disturb you.^ We talked the matter over, 
Mr. Kirby and I, and agreed that it was our duty to 
435 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

shield you from possibly becoming the victim of 
imposture. For you must remember thut Mr. Dar 
racote had up to the time of his death steadily 
refused to acknowledge this claim, and that there 
was no proof of Peter Wilkins’ assertion that he 
finally acknowledged it on his death-bed. By my 
proposal and at my expense, an agent was despatched 
to Australia to look up proofs of the child’s parent- 
age, in order to settle the matter once for all , and 
meanwhile Peter Wilkins was prohibited from again 
approaching or in any manner disturbing you. When 
we obtained proof, either one way of the other, we 
intended to lay it before you, and advise you, to the 
best of our ability, how to act. But meanwhile can 
you possibly blame us for wishing to shield you 
from such annoyance as long as possible.?” 

“Yes,” she answered, “ I blame you even for that; 
because, although you might have meant well, you 
had no right to treat me as if I were a child, inca- 
pable of being trusted. But I could easily forgive 
this, — if it were all.” 

He looked at her uneasily. 

“I do not understand — ” he began, when she 
interrupted him. 

“No,” she said, “you do not understand — many 
things. And chiefly you do not understand that I 
know all — absolutely all, I think — which is to be 
known of this matter. I know that Peter Wilkins 
told the truth when he said that Mr. Darracote 
acknowledged his grandchild before he died. I 
know that, besides acknowledging, he wrote with 
his dying hand a will leaving his fortune to her. I 
know that Mrs. Treherne secreted this will, and I 
43 ^ 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

also know that she offered it to you to-day for a 
price which you agreed to give.” 

There was a pause — an awful pause — in which 
they looked at each other silently. For once in his 
life Hastings found himself without a word to reply. 
What could he say.? How could he explain the 
terrible position into which he had been betrayed .? 
For that it was betrayal, that Mrs. Treherne had 
sacrificed even interest for the sweetness of revenge, 
he had not a doubt. What a fool he had been to 
fall into her trap ! That was the chief thought in 
his mind as he sat motionless, gazing at Irma. 
Then he pulled himself together. 

perceive,” he said, “that you have indeed 
heard everything; and heard it colored, no doubt, 
by all that malice could suggest. Well, if you will 
trust me, if you will believe me, I can explain even 
this.” 

“ Explain ! ” the girl cried, and the passionate 
pain in her voice was indescribable. “Is that all 
you can do .? Explain — that is, excuse, gloss over, 
turn black into white ! And not one word of denial 
— not one ! Only to explain ! — which means to 
acknowledge.” 

He leaned toward her. 

“Irma,” he said, possessing himself by force of 
one of her hands, “if I condescended to buy the 
silence of that woman, it was for your sake — to 
spare you — ” 

She interrupted him with a laugh which startled 
him, it was so unlike any other sound he had ever 
heard from her lips, — it was so entirely the extreme 
expression of indignation, contempt, and despair, 

437 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“For my sake — to spare me!” she echoed. 
“Yes, I understand: to save my fortune, this 
wealth which I have felt to be accursed from the 
first hour it came to me! It cost me my father 
then, and now it costs — But no ! One cannot lose 
what one has never possessed. You have loved the 
Darracote fortune, not me, else you had never 
stooped to such dishonor to retain it. My God ! ” 
— she tore her hand from his grasp and rose again 
to her feet, a beautiful and splendid vision in her 
tragic passion, — “that a man should sell his honor 
and his conscience for a thing so pitiful, so vile, as 5 
this dross of earth called money! ” 

“ Irma ! ” he said again, as, rising also, he faced 
her with an air of great dignity and self-restraint. 
'Ms it possible that you will not listen to me.^ Are 
you going to condemn me without even hearing 
what I have to say in my own behalf.^” 

“You have condemned yourself,” she answered. 
“When you acknowledge that you agreed to pay 
Mrs. Treherne her price for that paper, you leave 
yourself nothing more to say. Could any man of 
honor, of the merest worldly honor, have done such 
a thing.? ” 

“Yes,” he answered boldly, “if his object were 
like mine, to gain the power to do exact justice at 
last.” 

“ If that were your object, why was it necessary 
to bargain with this woman to obtain a document 
which of itself secured that justice.?” 

“Because I did not believe that it would secure 
justice,” he replied. “In itself, you must under- 
stand, this document is informal, and has no legal 

43S 



‘•That a man should sell his honor and his 


conscience . 



WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


value except as a proof that Mr. Darracote accepted 
the evidence of the child’s parentage which Peter 
Wilkins laid before him in that last interview. But 
Mr. Darracote was at that time a dying man, and as 
such incapable of judging of the weight and value 
of evidence. I am absolutely sure that if he were 
here to speak he would be the first to advise caution 
and delay, and that his own hasty act should be set 
aside until conclusive proof can be obtained whether 
the child is what he then believed her to be, and 
not rather what he believed her in his days of health 
and mental vigor, — simply the tool of imposture.” 

But granting that you would have the right to 
do this, why, then, should you have wished to sup- 
press a paper which you say has no legal value 
Why did you not let Mrs. Treherne bring it to me .? ” 

No doubt she has told you why. It was because 
I feared that you would act hastily : that you would 
not listen to reason, that you would insist upon 
giving up the fortune which you have never valued, 
but which Mr. Darracote earnestly desired that you 
should have.” 

'' In order that it might pass to you ! ” she re- 
joined. ‘'P'or I have learned this also. I have 
learned that it was settled between you and him 
that you should marry the heiress when she came. 
I am told that there is a letter in Mr. Kirby’s 
hands stating these wishes, a letter which was 
suppressed, even as you desired to suppress this 
paper. It was considered better I should not know 
anything of the arrangement; that I should imagine 
you loved me. Ah, poor, dreaming fool that I have 
been ! How you must have despised me ! ” 

439 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

She put her hands to her face in a sudden agony 
of humiliation, of suffering; then dropped them and 
drew back quickly, proudly, as he strove to touch 
her. 

<< No ! — that is all over. We have nothing to do 
with each other, you and I, after this. Thank God 
the way has opened for me to drop the wealth which 
corrupts every one who comes near it ! Whether this i 
document is legally valid or not, you are right in 
thinking that it is valid for me. The Darracote 
heiress after to-day is no longer Irma Darracote but 
Lily Vidal. There is nothing to add to that; and, 
being so, nothing to say between you and me but 
farewell ! ” 

She had gathered back her self-control as she 
said these words, and stood before Hastings now, a 
picture of such proud resolution mingled with pain, 
of such fair stateliness without a touch of anything 
that could mar or lower, as he felt he could never 
forget. And as he looked at her he knew for the 
first time what she really was to him : not merely a 
lovely girl, with whom, in banal phrase, he had 
fallen in love, and whom it was expedient he should 
marry to secure the greatest degree of pleasure and 
comfort for them both ; but a woman who had power 
to lift his whole being into a higher region of 
thought and feeling than he had ever known before. 
It was suddenly borne to him that if he lost her he 
should lose the only glimpse, the only opening, fate 
had ever granted him into a paradise more than 
earthly, because in it bloomed flowers which were 
not of earth, and which his world -tired soul desired 
with a longing of which he was only now conscious. 

440 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


But he would not lose her ! Strong, imperious, un- 
accustomed to defeat, his will rose up in this deter- 
mination. He suddenly took both her hands in the 
firm grasp of his own. 

“Do you not know,” he said, “that this is folly? 
There can be no parting for you and me. All these 
things of which you have spoken are of less than no 
account before the deep fact that we love each other 
and that we have need of each other. The Darra- 
cote fortune has been merely the accident which 
brought us together, but it is not in the power of 
any such accident to part us. It is impossible that 
you can really believe that I have thought of this 
fortune rather than of yourself. It is impossible 
that you do not know me better, that you do not 
know that, putting aside all high sentiment, nothing 
would induce me to think of marrying a woman 
whom I did not love. I make no claim of great dis- 
interestedness on this score. It is simply part of 
the selfishness, the deep-rooted epicureanism, of my 
character. And Mr. Darracote knew it well,' — so 
well that he only asked me to ‘ take into considera- 
tion ’ the thought of marrying his heiress; to re- 
member, if I could do so, that it would be what he 
desired. I promised him to consider his wishes, 
but I had not really a thought that I should ever 
fulfil them — until I saw you. And then, to my 
great surprise, I found a woman who could rouse in 
me more than a mere languid partiality for her 
society; who could thrill, who could touch, and who 
could uplift. For it is there that my chief plea to 
you comes in. If you tear yourself away from me, 
you tear away the greatest influence to high and 
441 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

noble things which has ever entered into my life. 
To know you is to believe in those things, to be 
raised into an atmosphere where low aims and sordid 
motives become impossible — ” 

She broke in here with a cry, at the same moment 
wrenching her hands again out of his clasp. 

“ I have heard all this before,” she said, — ‘‘heard 
it, believed it, and thanked God with tears of joy 
that I could be such an influence to you. Then 
came the practical proof of my influence, and it is 
that ” — she pointed to the paper lying on the table 
before them, where Wilkins laid it down. “It is 
the fact that you have deceived me — oh, yes, 
tacitly! but it was deception all the same; that, 
while you talked of my power to uplift, you did not 
trust me to deal with a simple question of ordinary 
justice; fearing that I might apply those principles, 
those standards, which you profess to admire but 
which you have no desire to see put into practice. 
And then — then at last the supreme test ! ‘ Low 

aims and sordid motives ’ had become impossible to 
you; and yet what aim could be lower, what motive 
more sordid, than that which made you enter into a 
dishonorable traffic with a dishonorable woman, — 
yield to her demands, descend to her level ; promise 
to reward her with half a million of Mr. Darracote’s ! 
money for, as far as lay in her power, defrauding | 
his grandchild 1 Ah ! it is worse than useless to say I 
anything more. There are some things which once || 
destroyed can never be rebuilt. A shattered trust 
is one of them. I know, I have always known, S 
that we are very different, and that the difference 
lies deep; but I believed that love could build a 
442 

i' 

I 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


bridge across this difference, and that it was not 
so deep in reality as in appearance. But now I 
see that it is far deeper than I imagined. I do 
not wish to judge you, — at least not with harsh- 
ness, — for I feel, as I never felt before, my igno- 
rance of your world, my inability to comprehend 
your standards of action. I only know that they 
can never be mine, nor mine yours in any real 
sense, and hence that we must part.” 

‘‘Never!” he said, more than ever determined to 
bear down her resolution with his own. “Never! 
for you have not denied, and you cannot deny, that 
you love me.” 

“And if I do,” she answered, “how does that 
matter.^ Do you think I am so poor a creature as to 
be able to find happiness — to find anything save 
scourge and torment — in a love without trust If 
you do think so, it only proves how little you know 
me. I am not very old nor very wise, but of this I 
feel sure: that such a love would drag down the 
soul instead of raising it; and whatever does not 
raise us, be it ever so little, toward the higher, the 
nobler life, must be renounced, though we tear our 
hearts asunder in the doing of it.” 

The deep note of passion in her voice made her 
tones thrill like music on his ear. In all his life 
he had never been lifted to such a pitch of feeling 
as possessed him now, as made everything else seem 
absolutely trivial and unimportant compared to 
triumphing over the will which she opposed to him. 

“And so,” he said, “it comes to this: that you 
are ready to do yourself and me the great injustice 
of thwarting and denying the love which has trans- 
443 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

formed and enriched our lives for the sake of a few 
abstract moralities, with regard to which, possibly, 
we might not think alike. By Heaven, you shall 
not do it ! Love has the first, the highest right of 
all — and you shall not deny it ! ” 

His gray eyes, always before so cool and quiet, 
flashed now a fire into her own before which a weaker 
woman would have melted, yielded, surrendered her 
arms to the power he invoked, that great power 
which from the beginning of all things has dragged 
men lower and carried them higher than any other 
influence on God’s earth. But this girl, although, 
as she said, not very old nor yet very wise, was not 
weak; and some divine instinct told her that if she 
yielded to the emotion which he roused, to the 
almost overpowering charm of his voice, his look, 
his whole personality, she would be yielding to that 
which could result only in the spirit’s degradation. 
And so, putting out her hands as if to hold him 
back, she answered : 

“I cannot argue with you: I can only tell you 
what must be. How it is with others I do not 
know, but with me there is only one love which I 
can acknowledge and obey, and that is the love 
which is united with perfect confidence and highest 
trust. For such a love I could sacrifice anything, 
— go out gladly into any desert, bear proudly any 
reproach. But a love of which I should feel dis- 
trust and shame, which would be shut out from the 
higher part of my soul, which could never help 
toward those things for which we must strive or — 
or fall — so wretchedly — ” 

Her voice faltered — broke. She paused, strug- 
444 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


gling, it seemed, for the power of further speech; 
then looked at him almost entreatingly. 

“Will you not understand? Will you not believe 
this — and go?’' she said. “If I were so weak as 
to listen to you and try to forget these terrible 
revelations, I should only be miserable. Nothing 
else is possible. For us there is no longer any hope 
of happiness together.” 

Another man might have taken this as final, but 
not so Hastings. Defeat in any important matter, 
and especially where a woman was concerned, had 
always been unknown to him; and he was not likely 
to accept it now, when feeling, passion, pride were 
all excited as never before, — all wrought to the 
highest possible point of intensity. He had not the 
least intention of allowing Irma to inflict upon her- 
self and him the pain of separation which she 
decreed; but he was a man in whom, with all his 
faults, there was not the faintest element of brutal- 
ity. He could not therefore disregard the appeal 
in her eyes, in her voice, in her whole aspect, of 
physical exhaustion, even more than in her words. 
His very love for her told him that the strain of 
this interview must end, and that the sooner it 
ended the better. He took up his hat, and, holding 
it in his hand, stood for an instant looking at her. 

“Since you wish it,” he said, “and since you cer- 
tainly need rest, I will go. But do not imagine that 
I accept anything which you have said as final. 
When you are calmer I will prove to you that you 
do me injustice on many points. And I will never 
accept your sentence of banishment. It is much 
too late for that. There is but one thing stronger 
445 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


than such love as ours, and that is death. Death 
alone could force me to give you up. While we 
live I will never do so. No — do not answer me; 
there has been enough of this. So good-night, my 
dearest ; and would to God I had the power to give 
you relief from pain, and to deal with those who 
have made you suffer in this manner as they 
deserve ! ” 

A minute later he was gone; and as Irma sank 
back in the great chair behind her, everything seemed 
to fade away from her in something closely approach- 
ing to unconsciousness. 


446 


BOOK V 


THE BALANCE IS HELD 
I 

^‘T AM afraid, my dear Miss Darracote, that you 
have made a serious mistake.” 

It was Dr. Warner who spoke, as he stood by the 
great fireplace in the Argyle hall and looked at 
Irma standing beside him. In his glance as well as 
in his voice there was unmistakable gravity and 
solicitude. 

“Why, doctor?” she asked in a tone of surprise. 
“ Why do you fear that I have made a mistake? ” 

“ Because this child is very ill, and the mistake 
has been in bringing her here. The sooner, there- 
fore, that she is taken away the better. You must 
let me make arrangements at once for her removal.” 

“That is impossible,” Irma answered. “I cannot 
think of her being removed. And why is there any 
need of such a thing? Argyle is surely large enough 
to hold without inconvenience one poor, sick child.” 

“ Of the size of Argyle there is no question,” the 
doctor returned. “It is certainly large enough to 
hold many sick children, if their sickness threatened 
no one else. But Argyle is not large enough to 
hold a case of diphtheria with safety to yourself and 
your household.” 


447 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Irma looked startled. 

“ Diphtheria ! ” she echoed. But are you cer- 
tain? Can it be possible? The child has been in 
feeble health for some time. Why should she sud- 
denly take a disease like this? ” 

The doctor smiled a superior professional smile. 

“ It is for that reason she has taken it,” he said. 
“ An anaemic subject is particularly likely to take 
such diseases. Low vitality, thin blood, a reduced 
state of the whole system, — there you have the con- 
dition which invites disease. And there happens to 
be a good deal of diphtheria in the manufacturing 
part of Woodburn just now. It is most unfortunate 
that you should have brought the child here at this 
time; but there is no doubt that she must be im- 
mediately removed, and that you must leave Argyle 
at once, and not return until the house has been 
thoroughly purified.” 

Irma did not reply for a moment. She stood in 
a meditative attitude, gazing into the fire ; then she 
lifted her eyes to the tall man beside her. 

“ Do you mean that there is serious danger to 
every one in the house from the presence of this child 
in it? ” she asked. 

“ I mean exactly that,” Dr. Warner answered em- 
phatically. Diphtheria is one of the most conta- 
gious of diseases; and the type prevailing in Wood- 
burn is, I am sorry to say, particularly malignant. I 
speak plainly, not from any desire to alarm you, but 
because I wish you to understand the necessity for 
the immediate removal of the child.” 

“ There can be no question of her removal,” Irma 
said with grave decision. Lily Vidal is in Argyle 
448 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


to stay. But I will do everything that I can for the 
safety of the household. Whoever wishes to leave 
will be given immediate opportunity to do so, and 
the child and her attendants can be entirely isolated. 
I will ask you to send out from the city two nurses 
to take charge of the case.” 

Dr. Warner stared with the most open astonish- 
ment. 

Is it possible,” he said, “ that you mean to keep 
her here, after what I have told you? ” 

“ Yes, I shall keep her here.” 

“ But, good Heavens ! ” the doctor returned, in a 
tone of mingled amazement and impatience, “ why 
should you do such a thing? Do you know that 
you will be risking your own life, unless you leave 
the house at once — ” 

“ I shall not leave it,” Irma interposed calmly. 
“As far as I am concerned, the danger has been 
already incurred. To fly from contagion now would, 
I am sure, be useless. I do not think that I shall 
take the disease. But that will be as God wills. 
Meanwhile please understand that the child stays 
and that I stay also, and make whatever arrange- 
ments are necessary for the treatment of the case 
accordingly.” 

‘‘But — ” Dr. Warner began, when she put out 
her hand with a gesture which stayed his speech. 

“ My dear doctor,” she said, “ protest and argu- 
ment are useless. The matter is settled. And now 
tell me, is the child dmigerottsly ill at present? ” 

“ Certainly,” he answered. “ She is dangerously 
ill, because the disease as developed is of a violent 
type ; but she is not as yet too ill for removal — ” 

29 449 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ There is no question of removal,” Irma repeated. 
“ I was thinking of — other things.” 

She seemed still thinking of those things when, 
after the doctor was gone, irritated and remon- 
strant to the last, she remained where he had left 
her, looking with an absent gaze into the fireplace, 
where a few logs of wood were burning; although 
the wide hall doors were open to the spring sun- 
shine, and the air was fragrant with the scent of 
violets, which filled various bowls placed on the 
different tables. Presently, with an air of bracing 
herself to an effort, she turned and went toward the 
music-room, whence proceeded the sound of a high, 
clear voice singing scales and practising roulades. 

As the door opened, Camilla looked around and 
immediately discontinued her vocal exercises. 

“What is the matter?” she asked quickly. “ You 
are as pale as a ghost. Are you ill?” 

“ No,” Irma answered, sitting down in a gilded, 
festal-looking chair, which seemed to emphasize her 
pallor and the severity of her black dress ; “ I 
am not ill. But — several things have happened, 
Camilla.” 

“ So I should judge,” returned Camilla, promptly. 
“ An air of happenings and mystery has pervaded 
this house ever since yesterday. I should really like 
to know what it all means ; and especially I should 
like to know if it is true that Mrs. Treherne is pack- 
ing her trunks to go away? That is the news my 
maid brought me this morning.” 

“ It is quite true,” Irma answered. “ But never 
mind about Mrs. Treherne. I have something more 
important to say to you. The doctor has just left. 

450 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


I sent for him, you know, to see Lily Vidal ; and he 
tells me that she has diphtheria.” 

“ What ! ” cried Camilla. She sprang from the 
music-stool on which she had been seated, and stood 
before her cousin with consternation in every line of 
her face. “ Diphtheria ! Oh, how frightful ! But 
of course you will send her away immediately?” 

No,” Irma said. She must stay. I have told 
the doctor so. She cannot be taken away.” 

“ But why not? ” Camilla demanded vehemently. 
‘‘Why should she not be sent away? Are you 
going to turn Argyle into a hospital for charity 
patients?” 

I might do worse, but, as it happens, no one 
could be farther from a charity patient than Lily 
Vidal, and no one could have higher rights in this 
house. She is, in point of fact, its owner.” 

“Irma! What do you mean? What nonsense is 
this?” 

“ It is not nonsense at all, but the truth ; although 
I did not know it myself until yesterday. This child 
is Mr. Darracote’s granddaughter, whom on his 
death-bed he acknowledged and to whom he left his 
fortune. It was by a strange chance that I brought 
her here, not knowing this ; but you can see that to 
send her away now would be impossible, even if I 
were disposed to do so.” 

Camilla sank back on the silken cushions of a sofa 
which stood near, for a moment incapable of speech. 
Then she gathered breath. 

“But it is impossible V she cried. “ Things hap- 
pen so on the stage, but not in real life. How could 
Mr. Darracote have a granddaughter and nobody 

451 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


ever hear of her until she is sprung on one like this? 
It is absurd — unbelievable! You are deceived, 
Irma ! You are too credulous ! ” 

“ I may be credulous,” Irma replied, “ but I am 
not deceived. There is no doubt of the child’s claim, 
and every one concerned has known of it except 
myself. There was doubt whether or not her grand- 
father ever acknowledged her, but that doubt has 
been ended by the production of a paper which he 
wrote just before he died. And so ” — she looked 
around, smiling faintly — “ it has been, you see, 
merely a fairy-tale, after all, this beauty and 
luxury and wealth. And my feeling that I should 
some day wake and find it gone is proved a 
presentiment.” 

I don’t believe it ! ” Camilla repeated passion- 
ately, not one word of it I Somebody has made 
up the claim — forged the paper, most likely. What 
does Mr. Hastings think of the story?” she asked, 
not without a touch of malice. 

“ It does not matter what any one thinks,” Irma 
answered. “ In a case of this kind one must con- 
sider only facts. I have sent for Mr. Kirby, to put 
these facts before him. But meanwhile the most 
pressing thing is the illness of the child. Dr. 
Warner tells me that the type of her disease is 
violent, and there is serious danger of contagion — ” 
She paused, arrested in her speech by the paleness 
which suddenly overspread Camilla’s face and the 
look of terror which came into her eyes. Involun- 
tarily, as it appeared, her hand went to her throat. 

“ I forgot I ” she exclaimed. “ All this absurdity 
of her being Mr. Darracote’s grandchild put out of 
452 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


my mind what you said of her having diphtheria — 
and a violent type, too ? Mon Dien, if I should take 
it ! And yet you mean to keep her here? ” 

“ I must,” Irma said gravely; “ but I came to warn 
you. I would not have you incur any danger by 
remaining — ” 

“ But how do you know what danger I have already 
incurred? ” asked Camilla, almost hysterically. “ She 
has been here since yesterday; I sat at lunch with 
her — and ” — she sprang up, and, drawing her 

skirts about her, ran to the other side of the room — 
“ you have been with her — perhaps you have come 
from her now ! O Irma, I would never forgive you 
if I should take diphtheria and lose my voice ! ” 

“ I suppose not,” Irma said. “ But I hope that 
nothing so dreadful will happen. You must remem- 
ber that the disease has only declared itself this morn- 
ing. As soon as the doctor told me I thought of 
you, imagining that you would not wish to run any 
risk — ” 

“ I shall leave instantly ! ” Camilla cried. “ Will 
you order the carriage? I cannot wait for anything. 
Celeste must pack the trunks and follow me. Oh, if 
I were to take diphtheria and lose my voice, I should 
want to die ! Life would not be worth having for a 
day ! ” 

I am sure there is no need of such alarm,” Irma 
said anxiously. “You have not come into personal 
contact with the child; she is now completely iso- 
lated, so that you can take time to make your prepa- 
rations — if you must go. And,” she added with a 
wistful tone in her voice, “ I have no doubt that it is 
best you should go.” 


453 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

‘'Of course I shall go,” Camilla said. She was 
walking to and fro at the other end of the room, with 
her hand still on her throat. “ Nothing would induce 
me to remain an hour longer,” she went on excitedly. 
“ If you thought at all of me, of the terrible danger 
to my voice, you would not keep this child here. 
You would send her away at once to some hospital. 
But since you do not think of me, I must think of 
myself. My voice is all I have in the world. The 
mere thought of losing it sets me wild with terror. I 
was a fool ever to have come here. I might have 
known that, with your absurd heroics, scruples, ideals, 
— Heaven only knows what, — you would manage to 
ruin yourself and injure me in some way which no 
one could foresee.” 

“ I don’t think,” Irma said, with a slight catch in 
her voice, “ that I have deserved such reproaches — 
that I have injured you — ” 

Camilla paused and faced her dramatically, with 
the safe width of the room between them. 

“ Do you consider it no injury to me to take up 
credulously any absurd story which is brought to 
you, and throw away your fortune?” she asked. “ I 
am your nearest relative. I have some right to be 
regarded in the matter. I would be in a charming 
position, would I not, if I had trusted you when I 
first came, if I had listened to your generous pro- 
posals and cancelled my engagements? But I knew 
you too well for that: I knew that you could not be 
depended on. You have always wanted to pose as 
more elevated and self-sacrificing than the rest of the 
world ; and it seems you are to have the opportunity, 
the chance to play heroine to your heart’s content. 

454 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


I hope it will amuse you ; I hope it will gratify you ; 
and, above all,” — her tones grew indescribably bit- 
ter, — “I hope that you will discover that I knew a 
litttle more about Mr. Hastings than you did.” 

There was a short silence in the great white and 
gold room, with these two figures, so strangely arid 
strongly contrasted, confronting each other across 
it. Then Irma, with a great effort at self-control, 
spoke. 

“ I am sorry that you believe such things of me,” 
she said. “ I have never intended to pose as more 
elevated and self-sacrificing than others, but only to 
act according to the standards which were taught me 
by — one whom I loved and reverenced. As for giv- 
ing up my fortune, that is not for me to decide. Mr. 
Darracote had a right to leave his money as he liked, 
and he did only what was just when he wrote, with 
his dying hand, that he wished his granddaughter to 
inherit it. If that paper had been produced imme- 
diately, I should never have been here. My inheri- 
tance has been a mistake from first to last. If it has 
raised any expectations in your mind which will be 
disappointed, I am sorry, but I cannot blame myself. 
I had no part in the mistake, nor in the discovery of 
the truth. That I brought Lily Vidal here is true ; 
but her coming was entirely an accident ; and the only 
active part I have taken in the whole matter is in say- 
ing now, when she is seriously ill, that she shall not 
be sent away from the house which in right and jus- 
tice is her own. To ask that I should do such a 
thing is to ask too much. If I could do it, I should 
feel that I deserved the scorn both of God and man.” 

The musical voice took a deep note of indignation, 
455 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


mingled with appeal, as it uttered the last words. 
But the appeal fell unheeded on Camilla’s ears. Her 
anger was too great to allow any generous impulses 
to make themselves heard. She threw out her hands 
with a violent gesture. 

“ Oh, I am sick of heroics ! ” she cried. “ This is 
what they come to at last — taking up a wretched 
object of charity, believing some ridiculous trumped- 
up story, ruining your own life, and giving not a 
thought to my voice ! ” (Camilla was altogether un- 
conscious of any anti-climax here ; to her mind, dis- 
regard of her voice was the most tragic touch of the 
whole.) “ Keep your indigent heiress and nurse her, 
and pose as a heroine to your heart’s content; but 
don’t expect me to stay and share such danger — all 
for nothing ! ” 

“ I don’t expect it in the least, nor wish that you 
should stay,” Irma said earnestly. “ I could not be 
so selfish.” 

“ Oh, no ! you could not possibly be selfish ! ” 
Camilla returned sarcastically. “ And yet if there 
was ever anything more selfish than your conduct 
towards me, I don’t know where one would find it. 
I have come across the world to see you ; but I am 
to be turned out of Argyle for the sake of this child, 
and because you must keep up your fine attitude of 
despising wealth. Some day perhaps you will learn 
the value of money, and then I shall not be sorry for 
you.” 

“ I think that I have already learned very thor- 
oughly the value of money — I mean the value in 
which it is held,” said Irma, quietly. “ I am sure 
that there can be no further need of any lesson for 
45 ^ 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

me on that point. But when you talk of being ‘ turned 
out of Argyle,’ Camilla, you must know that you are 
unjust.” 

“ It does not matter what it is called, that is the 
fact, said Camilla, changing from heat to iciness of 
tone and manner. “ Of course I cannot risk any 
danger to my voice ; and, since the result of all your 
fine proposals and professions is to bring me into 
such danger, I must take care of myself. If you will 
order the carriage for me, I will go immediately.” 

It was with a strange expression that Irma regarded 
her, before answering or stirring. Perhaps she waited 
for some word of affection, some sign of interest about 
herself. But if so, she waited in vain. With an air 
of indignant aloofness, Camilla went up to the piano 
and began to put her music together; and, after 
watching her silently for a moment, Irma rose. 

“ I will order the carriage at once,” she said as she 
left the room. 


II 



WO hours later Irma was seated in the library 


1 with Mr. Kirby. Besides receiving her sum- 
mons, the lawyer had seen Hastings, and he had 
therefore lost no time in presenting himself at 
Argyle ; for to his professional sense it was at once 
very interesting and very important news which had 
been conveyed to him from both sources. He sat 
now with a judicial aspect listening to Irma’s relation 
of the facts as they had come to her knowledge, and 
glancing at the paper which she had given him. 


457 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

When she finished speaking he looked up at her, 
and she was struck with the keenness of his gray- 
blue eyes under their overhanging eyebrows. 

“ In order to clear the ground,” he said, “ I will 
first answer your reproach that I did not inform you 
of this claim, but left you to learn it by chance, and, 
I infer, very unpleasantly. My dear young lady, 
there was no possible reason why I should have 
troubled you with such a matter, unless there were 
active steps taken, threatening your possession of the 
estate. As Mr. Darracote’s executor, I had simply 
to execute his will. As your friend, I should have 
acted very unwisely if I had disturbed your mind by 
a story with which neither you nor I had anything 
to do. You think that you had something to do with 
it, but there you are mistaken. As the matter stood 
at that time, — Mr. Darracote having distinctly refused 
to acknowledge the child, and having set an emphatic 
seal on his repudiation of her claim by ignoring her 
in his will, — you not only had no reason to recog- 
nize her, but you would have incurred the risk of 
encouraging imposture by doing so.” 

“ And yet,” said Irma, I understand that you 
recognized the claim sufficiently to send an agent to 
Australia to examine the proofs of the child’s parent- 
age, and to bind Mr. Wilkins to secrecy as far as I 
was concerned.” 

“ Again you are mistaken, both in your facts and 
in your deductions. It was not I who sent the agent 
to Australia ; for I had no right to do so as Mr. 
Darracote’s executor, and no interest in doing so 
personally. Mr. Hastings sent the agent, — that is, 
he bore the expense. But in doing this, neither he 

45S 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

nor I considered the claim as anyftiing save a possi- 
bility of legal annoyance, which it was desirable to 
settle in a final sense. For the same reason Wilkins 
was enjoined from approaching you. There seemed 
no possible reason why you should be troubled with 
a matter which lay entirely outside of your concern, 
but which might have roused some unfounded scruples 
in your mind.” 

“ In other words, you did not trust me,” replied 
Irma. “You thought me foolish and visionary, and 
*you treated me like a child. Perhaps I should not 
complain of that. I have been visionary, I see it 
now very clearly, but I do not think I have ever 
been unreasonable. If you had told me the facts, I 
should have been guided by your judgment, as long 
as there did not seem to be any issue of right and 
wrong apparent in the matter. But when such an 
* issue arises, one must judge for oneself. There can 
be no shifting of responsibility then, no laying the 
burden on the shoulders of another. However young 
and ignorant one may be, if a point of conscience is 
involved, one must act, as before God, according to 
one’s conscience.” 

She spoke with a dignity to which the lawyer could 
I not but yield a certain homage of admiration. Nor 
could he altogether resist the charm of the beautiful 
eyes which met his own with a glance so full and 
clear. 

“ That is granted,” he said ; “ but no such point 
iof conscience was involved then; nor do I think that 
it is involved now, although I see that you believe 
differently.” 

“ I certainly believe that I am conscientiously 
45? 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


bound to carry into effect all that is written there,” 
said Irma, indicating the paper in his hand. “ It does 
not appear to me that the obligation admits of a 
doubt.” 

“ Nevertheless, let us consider it a little,” Mr. Kirby 
answered quietly. In the first place, this paper has 
no value whatever as a legal instrument. Although 
we may, perhaps, put aside any suspicion of 
forgery — ” 

“Forgery!” Irma ejaculated with a start. “But 
that is impossible 1 ” ^ 

“ By no means impossible, nor even very improb- 
able,” the lawyer observed dryly. “ The person who 
is capable of suppressing and using for her own inter- | 
est a paper of this kind might readily be supposed 
capable of forging it. Putting that probability aside, 
however, and accepting the document as genuine, 
3^011 must understand that it is entirely informal and 
absolutely invalid as a will.” 

“ However invalid it may be,” Irma said, “ it is I 
binding on me as an expression of Mr. Darracote’s 
last wishes.” 

“I am coming to that as my second point,” Mr. 
Kirby went on. “ It was a dying man, with all his 
faculties, and especially the faculty of judgment ob- 
scured, who wrote this paper. It cannot, therefore, 
be accepted as an expression of his real wishes. I, 
who knew him well and have no interest to serve in 
the matter, assure you that there was nothing farther 
from his wishes than that his wealth should go to 
reward imposture.” 

“ But there can be no question of imposture. Fle 
accepted the proofs of the child’s parentage.” 

460 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ Let me remind you again that he was in no con- 
dition to judge such proof. He accepted what he 
would certainly have rejected had it been brought to 
him at another time. For the proof is not convincing. 
Of that I have satisfied myself.” 

With the proof as proof I have nothing to do,” 
Irma returned. “ It is enough for me to know that 
Mr. Darracote accepted it ; and that if time had been 
given him the paper you hold there would have been 
drawn and signed in the most formal and valid man- 
ner. This being quite certain, what I have to do is 
to execute his wishes, without regard to whether or 
not he had good reason for them. They were his 
wishes, and that is enough.” 

‘‘But you should consider — ” began the lawyer, 
when she interrupted him : 

“Will you kindly spare me further discussion? 
Perhaps I am obstinate, but my mind is quite made 
up. No argument will induce me to retain Mr. Dar- 
racote’s fortune. So I must ask you to prepare 
whatever papers are necessary for transferring every- 
thing which I inherited from him to his grandchild, 
Lily Vidal.” 

“Nothing could be more quixotic, more foolish, 
if you will pardon my saying so ! ” Mr. Kirby ex- 
claimed. “Even if the proof of the child’s claim 
were clear, an equitable division of the fortune would 
be all that could be asked of you.” 

“ By what possible right should I keep any of 
Mr. Darracote’s money, in the face of that will which 
gives his estate to another person, whether we call that 
person his granddaughter or not?” she demanded 
indignantly. 

461 




WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


But this will is invalid!' the lawyer repeated. 

“What difference does that make?” the girl rejoined. 

“ If we once grant that it is genuine, and even you, 
it seems, have no doubt of that, how does its mere j 
legal validity matter? ” 

Her tone had a sharp edge of impatience as she | 
asked the question. It seemed as if the self-control j 
she had maintained up to this point almost failed. * 
But after a momentary pause she went on, more | 
gently : 

“I suppose I ought to be grateful for your con-; 
sideration of what you suppose to be my interest. * 
But if you would only believe that it is not my 
interest, if you would only put all thought of me 
aside, I should be glad. For you must understand 
that I am making no sacrifice. It is no merit of 
mine that I have not learned to value the fortune 
which came to me so unexpectedly, which has brought 
me no good but the reverse, and which I am more ; 
than ready to resign. I hope that I should have 
sufficient simple integrity to give it up no matter ] 
what it cost me to do so ; but in reality it costs me 
nothing. I have never taken root here ; I have never 
felt as if this great inheritance was truly mine. It 
is as if it had been given me only that I might learn 
some things which were told me but which I hardly ' 
understood. I understand them now, and I am glad, 
honestly glad, to lay down the wealth which has 
taught me such painful lessons. So don’t be sorry 
for me, and don’t try to prevent my doing what, as a 
plain matter of right and wrong, I have no choice but 
to do.” 

“ If,” said the lawyer, who felt himself much moved, 
462 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ I cannot convince you that you take an exag- 
gerated view of the matter, that you are not bound to 
make such an extreme renunciation — ” 

“ No,” she interposed, “ you cannot convince me. 
For this inheritance is either mine or Lily Vidals I 
am speaking of moral, not of legal right; aiid if it 
is hers, it is hers completely. I have no right to 
retain either one dollar or one million dollars. Do, 
therefore, what I have asked you; and do it quickly, 
so that my mind may be at rest.” 

She uttered the last words with an air of earnest 
entreaty, but Mr. Kirby did not respond immediately. 
He was, in truth, considering how best to deal with the 
situation. He recognized clearly that there was no 
hope of changing or moving her resolution in any 
degree. Yet to yield, to transfer the magnificent 
Darracote estate to a child whom he firmly believed 
to be an instrument of fraud and imposture, was 
more than he could endure to do. But how to avoid 
it? If he refused his services, Irma could easily find 
lawyers to do her bidding ; and there was no one 
with power or influence over her sufficient to control 
her action. Clearly, the only thing possible was to 
temporize, to delay, to hope that something, some 
unforeseen chance, might occur to prevent this act 
of foolish quixotism. 

“ If you insist,” he said at length, slowly, “ I must, 
although with great reluctance, do what you request ; 
but will you let me advise against haste? I am ex- 
pecting every day the arrival of the agent who was 
sent to Australia. At least consent to wait until he 
comes, in order to hear what report he brings.” 

Irma frowned with a sense of irritation which she 

463 


Vv^EIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


could not control. The suggestion of delay was in- 
tolerable to her. She was consumed with a feverish 
impatience, a desire to lay down her burden and be 
free — be free. 

“ I do not see what there is to wait for,” she said. 

“ This agent’s report has no interest for me. Can’t 
you comprehend? I am not concerned in finding 
out who Lily Vidal really is. Whoever she is, Mr. 
Darracote accepted her as his grandchild and declared 
that he wished her to inherit his fortune. That is all 
that concerns me.” 

'' Very well, then,” replied Mr. Kirby. I will j 
proceed, under protest, you understand, to make out 
the papers. Meanwhile did I understand you to say j 
that the child is here — and ill ? ” 

Irma briefly explained how Lily came to be at 
Argyle; but when she mentioned the nature of her ^ 
illness, Mr. Kirby showed great and immediate , 
concern. | 

“ It will never do for you to be exposed to the | 
contagion of such a dangerous disease,” he said. I 
“ If you will not consent to the removal of the child, 
you must leave the house yourself. Come away with 
me. My wife will be delighted to receive you.” I 

“ You are very kind,” Irma answered gratefully. | 
But I have already incurred whatever danger of I 
contagion there may be here, and I should not feel it 
right to carry this danger into your house. That, 
however, is not my only reason for deciding to stay. 

I cannot entertain the idea of sending the child 
away, because I think that her right to be here is 
better than mine. You do not agree with this, but 
you must forgive me if I cling to my opinion. And 
464 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


since she must remain, I wish to remain also, in order 
to be sure that she has every possible care. I feel 
that I, who have been holding, however uncon- 
sciously, her place for so long, owe as much as 
this by way of reparation to her.” 

Mr. Kirby tapped impatiently with his fingers on 
the table by which he sat. 

All this is overstrained, very much overstrained, 
sentiment,” he said. ” If it were true that you 
have been holding her place, which, I have endeav- 
ored to show you, is not the case at all, there 
would be no reparation due for a mistake which 
was not your fault, with which, in fact, you had 
nothing at all to do. And, in deciding to incur the 
danger of taking this malignant disease, you forget 
that you owe it to — to those who care for you to 
preserve your life.” 

She grew a little paler, but remained quite calm. 

“ There is no one,” she replied, “ to whom I owe 
that duty; no one to whom it matters in the least — 
I mean in any essential sense — whether I live or die. 
So I am at liberty to take a risk which another 
woman might not take ; and I beg you to believe ” — 
she looked at him very earnestly and sweetly — “ that 
it is a happiness to me to take it. You have no idea 
how much pleasure my presence gives this poor 
child ; and I confess that if there were any imperative 
reason compelling me to leave her, I should feel the 
necessity very keenly. So don’t urge the point any 
further, dear Mr. Kirby; but accept my thanks for 
all your kindness, and leave me to do the .duty which 
lies clearly before me, and which I thank God for 
sending to me at this time.” 

30 465 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

These simple and sincere words were still sounding 
in the lawyer’s ears when he went out into the spring 
sunshine. And as he thought of the girl whom he 
had left alone in the great house, face to face with a 
danger from which, in this age of cowardice, men and 
women shrink and fly more than from any other, his 
heart seemed at the same time to contract with a 
sense of painful pity and to expand with that strange 
uplifting which we know when some touch of heroism, 
coming often whence least expected, makes us feel to 
what heights even our poor, failing human nature may 
attain. 

“ There is not the least hope of moving her,” he 
said to Hastings a little later. “ I have never seen 
any one more resolved. She is a fine creature, but 
absolutely impracticable.” 

“ The great mistake was in concealing anything 
from her,” answered Hastings, gloomily. “ I should 
have told her about the claim as soon as I learned of 
it myself.” 

“ Upon my word, I don’t see what you would have 
gained by doing so. She would have insisted on 
giving up the fortune all the same as soon as this 
miserable paper came to light.” 

“The fortune!” Hastings repeated. “I am not 
thinking of the fortune but of herself. You may find 
it odd, for I am not a man who has ever pretended 
to undervalue wealth, but I should be perfectly satis- 
fied for her to give the fortune away to this child, or 
to any one else, if I could only regain her trust.” 

Mr. Kirby coughed. This was certainly not a 
sentiment which he would have expected from a man 
so keenly alive to the good things of the world as 
466 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


Gerard Hastings; and while he did not doubt the 
immediate sincerity, he doubted exceedingly the per- 
manence of the feeling which inspired it. 

“ It is to be regretted,” he said, “ that you have 
lost your influence with her, but I confess that I 
should not under any circumstances wish to see this 
splendid fortune thrown away. It will be very diffi- 
cult to prevent, however, if the child lives. Have 
you heard, by the by, that she is ill with diphtheria 
at Argyle?” 

No,” Hastings answered in a startled tone. “ I 
knew that she was there — but ill — and with diph- 
theria ! Did you not advise Miss Darracote to send 
her away ? ” 

“ I wasted some breath in that effort ; and then 
urged her, if she would not send the child away, to 
leave the house herself. She would listen to neither 
proposal, and, I gather, intends not only to remain 
but to act as nurse. It is a pity that she should risk 
her health, and possibly her life, in this manner; but 
there seems no help for it.” 

Hastings uttered a passionate exclamation. 

“ There must be help for it ! ” he said. “ It can- 
not be suffered. Who is with her? One must bring 
some influence to bear.” 

“ I don’t really think that there is any one with 
her,” Mr. Kirby replied. ” I understood her to say 
that both Mrs. Treherne and her cousin. Miss Vin- 
cent, had left through fear of contagion. Indeed I 
know that Mrs. Treherne has gone ; for I met her 
driving out of the gates as I entered them.” 

Under his breath, Hastings consigned Mrs. Tre- 
herne to a fate which need not be specified. 

467 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE ^ 

. 

** And I am not surprised at the cousin,” he added 
bitterly. “ I knew from the first that she was selfish, 
and with selfishness goes cowardice.” 

“ After all, one can hardly blame her,” Mr. Kirby 
said philosophically. “ She is a singer, is she not? 
Naturally, in such case, her throat is her first con- 
sideration ; and why should she risk it for the sake 
of an inconvenient child, who, besides the enormity 
of having diphtheria, is about to deprive her cousin 
of her fortune } ” 

“ Or why should she give a thought to the cousin 
who is soon to lose the power of bestowing any bene- ' 
fits upon her?” Hastings asked with unabated bitter- 
ness. “ No,” he went on with energy, “ we all have j 
been and are alike, — all, in different degrees, have ’ 
valued her and sought her for her wealth. God I 
knows she does well to cast us contemptuously aside. ^ 
We have been weighed in the balance and found | 
wanting.” 

“ You take her views too seriously, entirely too 
seriously,” Mr. Kirby protested. As I have said, she 
is a noble creature, but absolutely impracticable, 
with standards which are altogether too high for i 
ordinary human nature. Such people generally end j 
by running their heads against a stone-wall. We I 
must compromise a little, if not with our conscience 
at least with our ideals, if we want to exist com- 
fortably in this world.” 

“ There is not the faintest doubt that the most of 
us find no difficulty in making such compromises,” 
Hastings answered. “But Irma Darracote is of a 
different order. Compromise is an impossibility to 
her.” 


468 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ So much the worse for her ! ” the lawyer returned, 
with a shrug of his shoulders. “ Heaven forbid that 
I should ever again have to do with a client formed 
in such heroic mould ! When I think of the fate 
which awaits my poor friend’s fortune, should Provi- 
dence not be good enough to remove that child — ” 
He broke off, as Hastings rose abruptly to his 
feet. 

I have just thought that there are two people 
who have some influence with her,” he said. “ They 
are the priest — Father Thorne — and Mrs. Lawton. 
Between them they may at least persuade her to 
leave Argyle. I will go to them at once.” 

“ I wish you, and them, all possible success,” 
answered Mr. Kirby. But his tone conveyed the 
impression that such success, in his opinion, was 
more than improbable. 


Ill 

WANT Miss Darracote ! Where’s Miss Darra- 
i cote ? No, I won’t take it for you, — I won’t, 
I say ! I want Miss Darracote ! ” 

Such was Lily Vidal’s insistent cry as she tossed to 
and fro in the great carved bedstead where she lay, 
and turned her face fretfully away from the nurse 
and the draught which the nurse offered. The 
latter stood, glass in hand, with the patience which 
comes of long practice, and tried the effect of gentle 
remonstrance. 

“ Miss Darracote has gone to take a little rest,” she 
said. “ Don’t you know that she must have some 
469 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


rest? She has been here with you a long time, but 
when you fell asleep she went to lie down. Surely 
you would not want her to be disturbed so soon ! ” 
Yes, I do ! ” the fretful voice wailed. “ She said 
she would stay with me as long as I was sick ; and I 
am very sick and I want her, — I don’t want nobody 
else but her ! ” 

The nurse looked appealingly at Peter Wilkins, 
who sat by the side of the bed. 

“I cannot think of disturbing Miss Darracote,” she ' 
said. She is quite worn out and needs rest. Can’t 
you persuade her to take this? ” 

The old man, looking very white and worn, leaned 
over toward the child. 

Lily ! ” he said imploringly, Lily, you ’ll take 
your medicine, dear ! If you won’t take it from this 
lady, you ’ll take it from me — ” 

“ No, no ! ” Lily interrupted. “ I want Miss Darra- 
cote ! She said she would stay with me. Why has 
she gone away? ” 

“I haven’t gone away, Lily: here I am!” a soft 
voice replied, unexpectedly, behind the nurse. The 
next instant Miss Darracote came to the side of the 
bed, slipped one arm under the child and raised her, 
while with the other hand she took the glass and held 
it to the feverish lips. Now, dear,” she said gently, 
‘‘drink!” 

With an upward glance of touching confidence into 
the face bending over her, the child made an effort to 
obey, but found herself unable to do so. 

“ Oh, I can’t ! ” she gasped. “ I canT swallow ! ” 

Irma and the nurse looked at each other. 

“ The throat must be washed out again,” the latter 

470 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

said. ** It is a good thing that you have come, Miss 
Darracote : she will be still for no one else.” 

This was quite true. Neither for Mr. Wilkins, for 
doctor, nor for nurse would Lily submit to this dis- 
tressing operation ; but only for Miss Darracote, 
toward whom she had conceived a sudden, passionate 
attachment. On Irma, therefore, fell the work of 
holding the frail form while the throat was washed 
out; and only her touch could quiet the irritable, 
excitable child. It was a fight with death which had 
been going on now for days; and of all concerned in 
it Irma had most cause to be exhausted, since for her 
there had been little or no rest. Lily’s demand for 
her was constant, and her only sleep had been snatched 
during the brief intervals when the child herself slept. 
And yet, instead of exhaustion, she displayed a 
strength which surprised every one. It was, in truth, 
the strength of a mental condition akin to fever in the 
physical order. To one in this state an engrossing 
task, a task which will absorb the energies and 
keep thought at bay, is the greatest blessing which 
can be granted. Knowing and feeling this, desir- 
ing nothing so little as to have time to think or to 
feel, Irma had spoken sincerest truth when she told 
Mr. Kirby that she thanked God for the duty which 
had been placed before her at this time. 

It need scarcely be said that there were others 
beside Hastings who did not consider it a duty; who 
held, on the contrary, that she was recklessly and 
uselessly risking her life in these offices of charity. 
Father Thorne was the first to remonstrate, but he 
soon held his peace. To him Irma opened her heart ; 
and when he looked into the depth of the anguish 

471 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


which she revealed to him, he was ready to acknowl- 
edge that any means was good which at this juncture 
offered her absorbing work for hands and brain. Mrs. 
Lawton was less easily convinced; >but even to her, 
through knowledge of sorrow, wisdom came. 

“ It is better to leave her alone, to let her do what 
she will,” she said finally to Hastings when they met 
in the grounds; for, despite Irma’s remonstrance, she 
was staying at Argyle. “ One only frets her by re- 
monstrance, and does not influence her in the least. 
Besides, I can see that it is a distinct comfort to her 
to have this work to do, to be able to care for the 
child who she feels has been wronged.” 

“ But not by her ! ” returned Hastings, impatiently. 
“ She cannot think that.” 

“ No, but there is a sense of pity which makes her 
desire to atone for what was perhaps only the hard- 
ship of fate. Only this morning she said to me that 
Lily had expressed a passionate desire to live at 
Argyle, and that it will seem hard if she is taken 
away just when the knowledge has come that Argyle 
is her own.” 

Has Irma given up hope of the child’s recovery, 
then?” 

^Tf Irma has not, the doctor has. When I spoke 
to him this morning, he told me that there was per- 
haps one chance in a hundred of recovery, but no 
more than that.” 

They walked on in silence for a few minutes ; then 
Hastings said : 

“ As far as I am concerned, I hope that she will 
recover.” 

Mrs. Lawton glanced at him curiously. 

4?2 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“Why do you hope so?” she asked. “It will 
mean for Irma giving up her fortune; for if this 
child recovers, nothing can prevent her giving it up.” 

“ Of so much I am sure,” he answered. “ But if 
the child dies and she retains the fortune, I can never 
make good my place with her again. Only if she 
loses it is there a chance — barely a chance — that 
she may come to believe in my sincerity once 
more.” 

Mrs. Lawton’s eyes dwelt on him still, with a not 
unkindly curiosity. 

“ I can scarcely believe that it is Gerard Hastings 
who is talking,” she said. “ Such humility, such 
distrust of your own power to make good your place 
again, and such disinterestedness (for men of the 
world are not usually disinterested to the point of 
hoping to lose a fortune), are not what I would ever 
have expected to find in you. And still less such 
capacity for that of which the world talks much 
and knows little — true love!” 

“ I don’t wonder that you are surprised,” he re- 
turned in a tone of candor. “ Honestly, I am sur- 
prised at myself. There ’s nothing more odd ” — he 
spoke meditatively, as they strolled along — “than 
the manner in which we are now and then revealed 
to ourselves. I suppose all of us cherish the delu- 
sion that we know ourselves, despite the admonitions 
of ancient and modern philosophy. At least, we 
imagine that we know the outlines of our characters 
and of what we are and are not capable. So we go 
on complacently for half a lifetime perhaps, and then 
suddenly something occurs, some cataclysm of the 
moral order, and we find ourselves possessed by 
473 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


feelings of which a little while before we would have 
confidently asserted that we were incapable. It may 
be passionate hate or passionate love ; but, whatever 
it is, it rises up and overwhelms us ; and part of our- 
selves looks on helplessly while the other part is torn 
and ravaged by forces which seem to have always 
slumbered in the soul they are now dominating.” 

What comprehension there was in the clear eyes 
which met his own ! And as Mrs. Lawton smiled 
a little sadly, what a revelation of character, of fine- 
tempered sweetness and strength, faithfulness and 
pathos, manifested itself in her smile. 

“ Yes,” she assented. “ There comes a time when 
we find those things out, to our great surprise. Each 
of us in turn, — if we are worth anything at all, — 
and your turn has come, my friend. Well, it is 
better than to go ignorant to the end, is it not? 
Whatever takes us from the surface into the depths 
of our natures, whatever teaches us to feely is good, 
even though it forces us to suffer. And love — love 
that tears our very hearts asunder — teaches most of 
all, since it causes us to suffer most of all. But the 
teaching makes amends for the suffering. I, who 
have some right to speak, offer you my testimony for 
that” 

“ You are right,” he said, — right and wise, as well 
as kind. But this which has come to me is a revela- 
tion in every sense ; for nothing in my life had been 
a preparation for it, unless it be the fact that I never 
accepted the travesties for the reality, never believed 
that the shallow sentiments which masquerade under 
the name of love were the genuine passion itself. 
People have called me cynical, and I have been cyni- 
474 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


cal enough in my opinions of men and women; but 
never so cynical as not to believe that the great 
power which lies at the heart of life must exercise 
a purifying and exalting influence on human char- 
acter, or else that it is belied and counterfeited. 
Personally, I never expected to feel this influence, 
because I never expected to find a woman capable 
of inspiring it, knowing as I did my own indifference 
and fastidiousness. Besides, it is the punishment of 
trifling with emotion that one becomes at last inca- 
pable of feeling in any supreme degree. That point 
I fancied I had reached.” He paused and faced 
round upon her with something almost of triumph in 
his air. “ But I had not reached it,” he went on : 
‘‘ I had not lost the capability of passion. I learned 
that when I met Irma; I learned it still more when 
I found that I had power to make her love me, and 
I have learned it most of all since I have lost her. 
And you are wholly right : even if I have lost her 
finally, if she never forgives and trusts me again, I 
shall, nevertheless, feel that I have gained more than 
I have lost in the knowledge which this love has 
brought me.” 

Mrs. Lawton laid her hand on his with a firm, 
gentle pressure. 

“ Tell this to Irma when you see her again,” she 
said. “She is wounded deeply now, wounded to 
the very depths of her soul, by the revelations 
which have been made to her; above all, by the 
fact that you entered into a bargain, in her eyes 
a dishonorable bargain, with that odious woman, 
Eleanor Treherne — ” 

“ Ah ! ” he ejaculated. “ It is that I can least 
475 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


forgive myself. It was a terrible blunder — not 
because there was anything dishonorable in it; for 
I held then, as I hold now, that I was justified in 
taking out of her hands, at any cost, a power which 
she meant to use only for mischief; but because 
Irma can never understand, and therefore will never 
pardon it. Tout comprendre, dest tout pardonner. If 
she could only comprehend, if she could only be 
brought to know that it was my desire to shield and 
save her — her^ not her fortune — which made me 
accede to the woman’s terms, she would pardon 
quickly. But that is what I fear is impossible — to 
make her comprehend.” 

“ It may be difficult, but it should not be impos- 
sible,” Clare Lawton answered. When this crisis 
is over, when we know whether Lily Vidal is to live 
or die, then you must see her, try your fate once 
more, make her listen to you. At present she is 
absorbed in a passion of pain and pity and anxiety ; 
there is no good in trying to see her now. But when 
all this is over — ” 

“ When it is over I shall be as far from her as 
ever,” Hastings said. “ What is weighing upon me 
is the consciousness of an irremediable loss. I am 
resolved to do what you advise, to see her, to plead 
with her, to explain everything, as far as one human 
being can explain himself to another. But I have 
a deep sense that all such effort is hopeless, that 
between us things will never be again as they have 
been. All my life I have had these instincts, and 
they have never deceived me.” 

“ They deceive you now, I am sure of that,” said 
Mrs. Lawton, confidently. “ Irma is too just, too 
476 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


generous, not to comprehend ; and to comprehend 
with her will be to pardon. Besides, you forget — 
she loves you / ” 

“That may be the worst of all,” he responded, 
“ if I cannot win her faith again. To a nature like 
hers, there is no tragedy like the tragedy of a love 
without faith.” 

The lady turned upon him impatiently. 

“Why are you so determined to look at the mat- 
ter despondently? ” she asked. “ When two people 
love each other, anything, everything is possible. 
It is only when the great Silence has come between 
that one knows the real meaning of hopelessness.” 

“And may not even that come between us?” he 
asked sharply. “ Think of the risk she is running, 
which I have no power to prevent! I dare not 
approach her even to remonstrate.” 

“ It would accomplish nothing if you could. Re- 
monstrance has no effect upon her. And the risk 
will soon be over. One way or another, the end 
must come quickly now.” 

“ But what will it bring? ” he said, with eyes full of 
anxious gloom. “ The danger has already been in- 
curred, and so wantonly, so uselessly ! ” 

Mrs. Lawton shook her head. 

“ You would not think it useless if you saw them 
together,” she said gently, “ if you saw the expres- 
sion on that child’s face as she looks at Irma. It is 
most wonderful and pathetic. When I watched them 
I could not but feel that it is a great thing, a thing 
worth any risk, so to smooth the dark passage for 
a human soul.” 

Something in her words, in the picture which they 
477 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


evoked, seemed to make further speech at once un- 
necessary and difficult. So, with a promise on her 
part to let him know immediately anything which 
might occur, they parted, and Mrs. Lawton slowly 
retraced her steps toward the house. 

As she walked, breathing the soft air full of the 
subtle sense of awakening life, and with her eyes 
fastened on a sunset sky flushed with tender, marvel- 
lous color, she was conscious of a sense of regret that 
Irma had refused to leave the sick-room long enough 
to take at least a little air and exercise. And then, 
remembering how the child had clung to her, with 
what wistful eyes and failing speech had implored 
not to be left, she felt that all the sweetness of the 
spring landscape, all the beauty of the evening sky, 
would have appealed in vain to a heart so filled to 
overflowing with the infinite piteousness of human 
pain. Hastings’ words recurred to her. Had all the 
suffering, as well as the danger, indeed been incurred 
“ wantonly, uselessly ” ? Again she shook her head 
in denial. No. Not only was it, as she had said, 
well worth the risk to have “ so smoothed the dark 
passage for a human soul,” but who knew better than 
herself what things were learned in such hours and 
scenes, by such deeds of ministry, such tears as it 
were of blood? They are not things easy to describe, 
not things which the world holds in high esteem or 
of great account; but on them is built everything 
most noble and most enduring, because most unself- 
ish, in human character. No man or woman goes 
down into the dark Valley of Pain and emerges from 
it quite the same; but it is on what is brought forth 
from that valley — what bitter rebellion against the 
478 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


unalterable sadness of existence, or what glimpses of 
the divine wisdom which by its mighty alchemy 
turns this sadness into resignation if not into joy — 
that the whole course and meaning of life and of 
death is determined. 


IV 


T he gray light of dawn was stealing through 
closed blinds and curtains into Mrs. Law- 
ton’s room when she was waked from uneasy sleep 
by a touch. It was the lightest, most hesitating 
touch, but still it waked her immediately; for she 
was expecting something of the kind, and some 
sense had remained on sentinel to warn and rouse 
the others. She sprang up in bed. By her side 
stood a tall, slender figure, ghostly, almost transpar- 
ent of aspect, in its wrapper of soft white Indian 


silk. 

Irma ! ” she cried quickly. What is it ? ” 

“ Lily has gone ! ” Irma answered, with a stifled 
sob in her voice. "‘Thank God she did not suffer 
much, but she has gone. I could not keep her — 
to make her well and fill her life with happiness. 
God would not let me do it.” 

“My dear, my dear, God knows best,” Mrs. Law- 
ton said, drawing the girl down beside her. “He 
knows what is good for the child, far better than 
you do.” 

“I am sure of that,” Irma said. “But just now 
it seems so hard — so hard ! She wanted to live — 
oh, she wanted to live so much, after I told her that 


479 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


she should live always with me! And I wanted her 
— I needed her. It seemed as if she had been sent 
to fill my life with some interest, some affection. 
Already I had grown fond of her, as one grows fond 
of that which depends on one, which one has 
tended, nursed. And now it is all over. She has 
gone — gone so reluctantly and so far away I Oh ! ” 
she cried with a shuddering sigh, “ how strange and 
terrible death is 1 ” 

“Very strange, very terrible to those who are 
left,” Mrs. Lawton replied, with all the sadness of 
poignant memory in her voice; “but to those who 
go — ah, Irma ! I have often thought that perhaps to 
them it may not be strange or terrible at all. The 
love which they leave, the love which is the best 
and most precious thing life has to give, may be 
but a pale shadow of the great, encompassing Love 
which awaits and welcomes them. For this child 
we must feel that it is surely so. You would have 
done much for her; but, after all, you could not 
have been sure of making her happy, no one can 
ever be sure of that where another is concerned. 
The Love which has taken her suffers from no such 
incapacity. It can make her happy, and we may be 
sure that it will.” 

“ But she wanted to stay I ” Irma repeated. “ And 
it seemed so piteous that she must go just when she 
could have had all she desired. Oh, I know this is 
a poor human way of looking at it ! — a selfish way, 
too; for I am thinking also of myself; but just now 
I cannot feel differently. I cannot rise higher. The 
sadness of it all is too close, too fresh — ” 

“ I know, I know I ” Clare Lawton said tenderly. 

480 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


And the words were true. She knew well that 
intense pang of pity which sometimes gives such a 
keen edge to grief — the poor human way ” of 
regarding those who are snatched away from all that- 
they held most of value. Were their eyes opened 
to another value by that strange, mystic touch of 
death While we sigh in passion^ mourning over 
their loss of life and all its opportunities for suc- 
cess and happiness, do they feel toward it as a man 
feels toward the discarded toys of his childhood.^ 
We know that this is possible — nay, from the 
standpoint of faith, far more than possible; but the 
human memory still dwells with insistent pain on 
those last heart-breaking glances, words, and tones ; 
still feels, as Irma cried, the sadness too close, too 
fresh, to be comforted even by divine truths. 

Knowing all this as those only know it who have 
been down in the deep waters of sorrow, Mrs. Law- 
ton made no effort to console a grief which to many 
would have seemed unreal and fanciful, but which 
she recognized as most real and most sincere. She 
only soothed the girl, worn out by watching and 
pain; put her to bed, saw her at last sink into 
sleep — that sleep which Nature always sends when 
some long strain is ended, — and then, rising her- 
self, went with a kind impulse to offer her sympathy 
to one whom the death of the child had indeed 
bereaved, — poor Peter Wilkins. 

It was several hours after this that Irma, opening 
her eyes from her deep sleep of exhaustion, found 
her friend seated beside her, and put out her hand 
with a grateful gesture. 

31 481 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ How good you are ! ” she said. ** Have I slept 
long.? I have had even in sleep the sense that 
there was nothing to wake for — no one asking for 
me. It is strange how one sinks when the need for 
exertion is over. I do not feel as if I had power to 
stir, and yet if Lily were waiting for me — ” Her 
eyes filled with tears. ^‘But Lily waits for me no 
longer.” 

“Neither for you nor for anybody nor anything 
else,” said Mrs. Lawton, gently. “But you carried 
her in the arms of your spirit as well as of your 
body to the very end, — to the gate through v/hich we 
must all pass alone. She looks like an angel of 
peacefulness now, as she lies sleeping among flowers. 
You can do no more for her; so you, too, must lie 
still and rest.” 

“No,” the girl answered; “I have something to 
do before I can rest. I must send and ask Mr. 
Kirby to come to me without delay. I must see 
him immediately.” 

“Dear Irma, can you not wait until to-morrow.? 
Do not try to exert yourself to-day: you are not fit 
to do so.” 

“Oh, yes, I am fit enough!” replied Irma, rais- 
ing herself. “ And delays are dangerous. I cannot 
rest — really rest — until my mind is relieved, and 
it can be relieved only in this way. So ring the 
bell and send a messenger at once. And then let 
Suzanne come to me.” 

So it was that a little later Mr. Kirby was shown 
into the library, where he had parted with Irma a 
few days before. He found her there awaiting him, 
and he was struck at once by the great change in 
4S2 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


her appearance since he saw her last, by her pale, 
wasted, almost shadowy aspect. 

“My dear Miss Darracote,” he said, taking her 
hand, “this will never do! It is just as I feared: 
you have been trying your strength too far. Has 
Warner seen you .? Really, it looks to me as if you 
need a doctor rather than a lawyer at present.” 

“The doctor may come later,” she answered; 
“but I need the lawyer now, and I assure you that 
I am quite strong enough to attend to business. 
There are some things I want to ask, some points I 
would like settled.” She hesitated a moment, then 
controlled herself to add quietly: “No doubt you 
have heard of Lily Vidal’s death .^” 

Mr. Kirby replied that he had heard of it, and 
discreetly forbore to add that he had received the 
news with much satisfaction and relief. 

“ It has occurred to me to wonder,” Irma went on, 
“how this affects my position — I mean as regards 
the fortune which I should have made over to her 
had she lived.” 

“It does not affect your position in the least,” the 
lawyer replied promptly. “How could it do so? 
The fortune, happily, was not made over to her 
before her death.” 

“But if it had been? If I had signed the paper 
which I asked you to prepare, who would then have 
been her heir ? ” 

“That is a question,” he said, “which I am glad 
to be spared the necessity of entering upon ; know- 
ing, as I do, very little of the family connections of 
the' child who has hap — ahem ! — died. We may 
be satisfied, I think, with the fact that you are the 

483 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


nearest relative of the late Mr. Darracote and the 
designated heir of his fortune. ” 

“I am not satisfied with it,” said Irma. '^On the 
contrary, I feel that I am in a very difficult position. 
I don’t know whether I can make you see the matter 
as I see it, but at least I can try. It is this way: 
in view of that last will of Mr. Darracote, have I 
any more right to hold his fortune now than I had 
before Lily Vidal died.^ In other words, if it right- 
fully belonged to her when she was living, does it 
not rightfully belong to her heirs, whoever they 
may be, since she is dead.^^” 

''If it had rightfully belonged to her in the first 
place, it would undoubtedly belong now to her 
heirs, whoever, as you say, they may be,” the 
lawyer answered dryly. ‘^But the supposition is 
not only a large but an untenable one. The Darra- 
cote fortune never belonged for an hour, rightfully 
or otherwise, to Lily Vidal.” 

“Not legally, I know; but rightfully — yes,” 
said Irma. 

“Neither legally nor rightfully. See here, my 
dear Miss Darracote,” — he leaned toward the pale 
girl with a kindly, paternal air — “you are, I know, 
afflicted in extreme degree with an unusually sensi- 
tive and scrupulous conscience, but you also have a 
mind which is open to reason. Now let me state 
this matter to you reasonably. In the first place, 
as I have told you before, that paper which you per- 
sist in calling a will has no legal value whatever; 
and very little value of any other kind, because the 
man who wrote it was unable to judge of the proof 
he accepted. But, granting it a certain value as 
484 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


an expression of his wishes, we know that noth- 
ing could have been more opposed to those wishes 
than that his wealth should pass away from his 
name and his blood to a horde of unknown peo- 
ple who have no more claim upon him than — than 
the Khan of Tartary. Even if Lily Vidal had been 
really his daughter’s child, I should oppose this 
with all my strength. But since I saw you last, the 
agent who was sent out to Australia has returned 
and has brought clear, unmistakable, convincing 
proof of what Mr. Darracote always believed, that 
Lily Vidal was not his daughter’s child. Under 
these circumstances, we may be sure that he would 
be the first to thank Heaven for having been unable 
to render that paper valid which he wrote with his 
dying hand.” 

Irma regarded the speaker with a startled ex- 
pression. 

*‘You have proof that Lily Vidal was not Mr. 
Darracote’s grandchild ! ” she said. “ How can that 
be.^ Mr. Wilkins told me that there is positive 
evidence of her birth.” 

‘‘Of her birth, no. Of the birth of a child to 
Mr. Darracote’s daughter, yes. But that child died. 
The agent of whom I have spoken found the proof 
of its death and the place of its burial. Lily Vidal 
was possibly the child of the actor who produced 
her — or possibly not. We cannot tell, and it does 
not matter. All that is certain is that she was not 
Mr. Darracote’s grandchild.” 

“ And therefore — ” 

“Therefore has no possible claim to his fortune, 
either living or dead.” 


485 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


There was a silence of several moments, during 
which Irma sat gazing before her, as one hardly able 
to credit what she had heard. 

“You have absolute proof of this.^” she asked 
presently. 

Mr. Kirby nodded with an air of great satis- 
faction. 

“ Proof which would be accepted as final and con- 
clusive in any court of law,” he answered. 

The dark eyes turned upon him again, and now 
there was a very anxious question in their depths. 

“Then this great fortune is mine, and no one else 
has any claim upon it } ” 

“It is certainly yours, and nobody else in the 
world has the least claim upon it.” 

“And — forgive me for asking so many questions, 
but I must know these things with certainty — if I 
should die, to whom would it pass } ” 

“To your relatives, my dear young lady, of course; 
but let us hope that no such event is likely to 
occur.” 

“But I have no Darracote relatives, that I know 
of,” she persisted; “and it does not seem to me 
that Mr. Darracote would have wished that his for- 
tune should pass to my relatives on my mother’s 
side any more than to Lily Vidal. They certainly 
were no more connected with him.” 

“Those are accidents of inheritance,” said the 
lawyer, “which cannot be guarded against by any 
human foresight; and in attempting to guard against 
them, testators have sometimes blundered terribly 
and perpetrated great injustice.” 

“But it is not necessary to blunder if — if one 
486 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


tries to do one’s best/’ she said earnestly. “I do 
not feel that it is right to leave this matter to 
chance, and so I wish to make a will — to make it at 
once.” 

“That is very wise,” Mr. Kirby agreed. “A will 
is what every one who has anything to leave should 
make as soon as he or she comes of age to do so. I 
will take your instructions and have the instrument 
drawn up immediately.” 

He turned toward the table as he spoke, and took 
up a pen, but Irma did not speak. Indeed, a silence 
of such length followed that he looked up at her, 
surprising an expression of hesitation and indecision 
on her face. 

“ I am trying to decide what Mr. Darracote would 
wish me to do,” she said quite simply, meeting his 
glance. “I have never felt as if this fortune were 
really mine; and I feel so less than ever since I 
have, as it were, laid it down and taken it up again. 
Now I believe there is no doubt that the person 
Mr. Darracote really wished to inherit it was Mr. 
Hastings. I have been told that there is a letter 
in your hands, addressed to my father, expressing 
his wishes.” 

“Yes,” Mr. Kirby assented with some surprise. 
“ I should apologize, perhaps, for never having given 
you that letter; but it was a delicate matter— a 
confidential communication for your father, not in- 
tended for your eye. And I was glad to know that 
what my old friend desired was, without the aid of 
his appeal, naturally and happily about to take 
place.” 

“We will leave that aside,” replied Irma, with 
487 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


cold yet gentle dignity. “I am right, then. The 
heir Mr. Darracote would have chosen, the heir 
whom, in fact, he did choose by an indirect method, 
was Mr. Hastings. This, therefore, simplifies what 
I am to do. I shall leave the fortune to Mr. Has- 
tings; and I wish you to express clearly that I do 
so because I know that I shall in this way be ful- 
filling Mr. Darracote’s wish.” 

Mr. Kirby permitted himself no comment, but 
made a memorandum of the instruction. When he 
ceased to write, Irma went on : 

*‘I believe that Mr. Darracote left his fortune to 
my father because there was ah old debt of assist- 
ance and kindness which he desired to acknowledge 
and to pay. In consideration of this, I think I may 
feel myself at liberty to leave a few legacies to my 
own friends. ” 

The lawyer raised his hands with a gesture which 
seemed to express a large sense of the hopelessness 
of driving legal fact into the feminine conscious- 
ness. 

‘‘You are at liberty to leave the entire fortune 
absolutely as you please,” he said. “ You can devise 
it exactly and entirely as you see fit.” 

'‘I will tell you, then, what I wish, and you will 
help me to put it into the right form,” she said. 
“ First, I want a sufficient sum given to my dear old 
Margherita to ensure her comfort for life. Then I 
want to leave to my cousin, Camilla Vincent, enough 
to secure her against the danger of poverty if any 
accident should befall her voice. She has no right 
to Mr. Darracote’s fortune, but she has a right to 
as much as this from me. That is all, except a 
488 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

provision for Mr. Wilkins, and something for Father 
Thorne, to aid him in his good works.” 

have made a note of the names,” observed Mr. 
Kirby. '‘Now the amount for each.? For Mar- 
gherita, for example, a sum to produce a yearly 
j income of twelve hundred dollars, perhaps.?” 

! These points were discussed and the different 
j amounts finally settled. Then the lawyer rose, put 
! up his note-book, and shook hands with the girl, 
j who looked at him wistfully and urgently. 

“Don’t delay, dear Mr. Kirby!” she said. “I 
i shall be very anxious until you send me that will 
and I sign ‘ Irminia- Darracote ’ at the foot of it. 
If I died suddenly and — what is it called.? ” 

“Intestate.? ” 

“Yes, intestate, — injustice would be done. 
Camilla, and some cousins in Italy whom I do not 
know, would inherit this fortune, to which none of 
them have any right at all.” 

“They would have a legal right,” the lawyer was 
forced to protest, “but otherwise certainly none; 
and you are quite right to guard against a danger 
which is, however, I hope, remote — very remote. 
Now, take care of yourself; see the doctor, and get 
well and strong again as soon as possible.” 

“What a wonderful aspect of peace — peace un- 
like any other — death possesses! What a strange 
air of dignity, too, as if even the body shares in 
some subtle way in the new dignity and wisdom of 
the soul ! ” Irma said to Mrs. Lawton as they stood 
together by the side of the couch on which Lily lay, 
surrounded by lilies, and with tall tapers burning at 
489 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

her head, looking down on the small countenance, 
set in the strange stillness, the austere sweetness of 
death. 

“ She was never still before, little Lily!” the girl 
went on, laying her hand gently on the tiny hands 
crossed over a white crucifix. “A restless, fever- 
ish, longing soul was hers, — passionate, eager, but 
with the capability of loving much. You are right : 
God has been good in taking her out of a world so 
full of certain pitfalls and certain misery for such a 
nature as hers. Yet how I had set my heart on the 
hope of making her happy, and she on being with 
me! But things were not as we thought, or at 
least as I thought. She was not, it seems, Mr. 
Darracote’s grandchild, after all.” 

No } ” queried Mrs. Lawton, much surprised. 

Then she had no claim — ” 

“To his fortune? None, it appears. It was all 
a mistake, but a mistake which has worked great 
changes. The whole face of the world has altered 
for me because this child came into my life — and 
the lives of others. It was not her fault; and to me 
she made amends for any unconscious wrong by the 
good she brought me, the good of her eager, cling- 
ing arms, her demands for service. Ah, how I miss 
them now ! And what a great privilege it is to be 
needed, to render service — ” 

She broke off, gazing with tear-filled eyes at the 
serene face among the lilies. And truly her words 
touched the sharpest pang of bereavement. To 
have no more service to render ! Who has not 
known the keen anguish of that thought? Clare 
Lawton put her arm around the slender form. 

490 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

1 '‘Come away, dear!” she said. “Every service 
which her own mother could have rendered you 
I gave, and now be sure ‘ it is well with the child.’ 
God has taken her : you can do no more for her, so 
; come I Think of yourself a little. You vtust rest I ” 

I “I need a little rest,” Irma admitted. “I am 
I very tired. ” She bent and kissed the white, waxen 
I brow. “Good-bye, little Lily!” she said. “We 
I had our dreams, you and I ; but God knows best. 

I He shatters the dreams that we may awake, perhaps. 

; And if the dreams were sweet, well — who knows ? 
— the awakening may be sweeter.” 


V 

I N that sunny, green-enclosed nook of the Argyle 
garden where he had first seen Irma, Hastings 
was sitting, with Rex lying at his feet. Otherwise 
he was quite alone. All around was stillness, 
silence, save for the sweet note of a bird now and 
then, and the many outward signs of Nature’s won- 
derful yearly resurrection, which, under ordinary 
circumstances, by its appeal to all the springs of 
physical existence, stirs the blood in the most 
sluggish veins. 

But it was evident that it had no power to stir a 
single responsive throb in the man who sat motion- 
less, his hat drawn over his brow, his eyes fastened 
on the vista before him with a gaze which saw 
nothing of its loveliness of blossom and tender leaf. 
He had the -air of one on whom despair had set its 
seal, that despair with which the soul finds itself 
491 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

for the first time face to face with the unalterable 
and the inevitable. 

There is no mistaking the aspect any more than 
there is a possibility of mistaking this momentous 
epoch in life. It is an epoch which with some 
arrives earlier and with others later, but it comes to 
all at last, and it came to Hastings now. Such 
sorrows as he had known before had passed lightly 
over him; had been regarded as clearly in the order - 
of that class of unavoidable events which are accepted : 
with philosophy and resignation. But the sorrow 
which searches into the very depths of the heart, 
and against which the whole nature rises in fierce 
rebellion, only to fall back in dull despair, he had ' 
never known before. Face to face with it, and with : 
the deep lessons which it teaches, lessons which J 
must be brought home with a personal touch to each 
one of us, he was conscious of a sudden changing 
and shifting of the values of life which could be 
described only as a transformation. What were all 
those things which yesterday had been of such 
importance to him, when to-day the woman whom 
he loved lay dying and he was powerless to save 
her ? 

And while he sat, immobile as a statue in the 
spring sunshine, with his outward gaze fixed vacantly 
on the scene before him, his inward gaze beheld 
another picture,— a lamp-lighted room, a pale girl, 
whose dark eyes were full of pain, standing in an 
attitude of renunciation and resistance, and himself 
saying : “ I will never accept your sente^ice of banish- 
ment. It is much too late for that. There is but one 
thing stronger than such love . as ourSj and that is 
493 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


death. Death alone could force me to give you up. ” 
The words, as they echoed through his brain now, 
seemed like a direct challenge to the dark Power 
which had accepted it. For Death was here, stand- 
ing between them with outstretched hand, forcing 
even his strong and arrogant will to acknowledge 
defeat, to accept a sentence of banishment against 
which protest was vain and revolt worse than futile. 

It is in moments such as these that the temper of 
our souls is known. For grief is the probe of God, 
and where it enters truth must be revealed. No one 
is so strong as to be able to play a part under the 
touch of this penetrating power, or even to sustain 
certain agreeable self-deceptions of strength or faith 
or piety. Tried “ as by fire ” our hearts must be, and 
nothing is at once more characteristic and more 
revealing than a man’s attitude and bearing under 
some great and desolating sorrow. Who has not 
seen the impatient display a strange and touching 
resignation, and the ordinarily submissive break into 
wild bitterness and impotent rebellion ? Diverse as 
the natures and the characters of men is the manner 
in which grief affects them ; and what had one 
whose only support was the broken reed called 
human philosophy to oppose to it but the recogni- 
tion of his own powerlessness and the apathy of 
despair.? 

Sunk in this apathy, he had not stirred for so long 
that the dog at his feet had stretched out and gone 
fast asleep, when suddenly he made a sharp move- 
ment and into his eyes there flashed a sudden gleam. 
Hurrying along the garden path toward him a man s 
figure suddenly appeared. 

493 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 




It was Norbert; and as he entered the enclosed j. 
space where Hastings sat, the latter rose to his feet. ^ 
So for an instant the two men faced each other, ^ 
both pale and stern. Then Norbert spoke : 

‘‘ Y ou know — you have heard ? She is dying ! ” 
“Yes, I know,” Hastings answered. “But if she ' 
is, what right have you to be here ? ” 

“A better right than you,” the other returned. 

“ I have known her long, and loved her as long as I j 
have known her. I would have given my heart’s 
blood for her, while you — you have broken her ; 
heart! Do you think I don’t know that.? It was I | 
who told her what you are.” ; 

“ So my suspicion was correct I ” said Hastings. \ 
“You played the spy in my house and carried the j 
result to her. I hope you are satisfied with your | 
work, for it is because of that she lies dying. It ■ 
was your story which made her keep and nurse the 
child from whom she took the disease which is 
killing her. My God!” — his outward composure 
shivered into sudden passion, — “ if she dies, I do not . 
know how I am to keep from killing you ! ” 

“You could not do me a greater service,” Norbert 
replied. “What do you think life will be worth to 
me after she has gone out of it .? The chances are 
that I shall kill myself; for my case is far worse 
than yours. When I told her what I had done, — 
done to save her from becoming the victim of a 
fortune-seeker, — she sent me from her presence with 
words of scorn, which will now be the last I shall 
ever hear from her. So I, who love her with every 
fibre of my being, suffer for you, who never loved 
her at all!” 


494 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

Hastings looked at him for a moment without 
answering, a deep sense of the futility of explana- 
tion or protestation filling and possessing his mind. 
What a tragedy of misunderstanding it had been, of 
presumptuous judgment, and attempts to order and 
direct events from narrow and selfish motives ! 

“ You have been and you are a fool ! ” he said at 
length. ‘‘But what does it matter now? No proof 
of your folly, your presumption, your mistake, can 
undo your act and restore her to life and health. 
Between us we have placed her where she is, and it 
is hard to tell on whom the greater responsibility 
lies. For you could not have played the spy and 
carried your story to her had I not given you the 
story to carry. Therefore we who love her, each 
to the utmost of his power in his own way, have, 
between us, broken her heart and killed her. He 
spoke in a voice passionless as that of a judge de- 
livering sentence; and then, turning, walked away, 
pacing up and down the garden-path beyond the 
nook; while Norbert flung himself down on the seat 
from which he had risen and buried his face in his 

hands. • ^ 4. 

So for half an hour they both remained silent, 
wrapped in the sombre shadow of a grief in which 
they had a strange sense of fellowship, amid all 
the soft beauty, the lovely sights and sounds of the 
spring day. Nor was the silence broken until Hast- 
ings suddenly paused in his walk, as again he caught 
sight of a figure hastening toward him from the 

^^This time it was Mrs. Lawton, who extended her 
hand with a summoning, imperative gesture. 

495 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


“ Come ! ” she exclaimed breathlessly. “ Come 
— she has asked for you.” 

He breathed two words — “Thank God!” — and 
strode off at a pace so rapid that she could not have 
accompanied him, even if Norbert had not risen 
quickly and come forward to detain her. His heart 
was in his throat; he could not articulate, but his 
passionate, miserable eyes asked the question his 
lips refused to utter. 

“Yes,” she said, comprehending him, “she is 
dying. The last Sacraments have been given, and 
she may pass away at any moment.” 

“And she sent for himV It was with a tone of 
inexpressible bitterness that this question came. 

“ He has begged to see her for days,” Mrs. Lawton 
answered. “ She would not consent as long as there 
was hope of her recovery, for she feared the danger 
of contagion ; but now there is no hope, so she has 
consented to see him.” 

“Perhaps, then, she will consent to see me.?” the 
young man ventured; and the eagerness, the pas- 
sionate longing of his tone went to Clare Lawton’s 
heart. He caught the expression of her face, and 
the next instant her hand was in the grasp of both of 
his. “ Oh, Madame,” he cried, in the fashion he had 
learned in France, “take me to her; ask her — oh, 
beg and pray her to see me ! If I cannot see her — 
if she goes away and I have no word to remember but 
those last bitter words which she spoke to me, I do 
not know how I can live. I am certain that I shall 
kill myself.” 

“Hush! hush!” Mrs. Lawton said hurriedly. 
“You do not mean that.” 

496 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

“ I do mean it — God knows I mean it ! But don't 
tell her that I said so. It would be like a threat, 
and I do not wish that she should consent to see me 
through a threat. Ask her through her kindness, 
through the memory of our past happy association, 
of her father’s friendship for me, of — of my own 
love for her if she will suffer you to mention it ! 
Ah, Madame, do this for me ancj save me from 
despair ! ” 

The voice, the eyes, the grasp on her hand — it 
was impossible for Clare Lawton to resist this un- 
veiling of a human soul, flinging itself upon her 
compassion in all the sharp and urgent tension of 
its agony. Her own eyes filled — overflowed. 

‘‘Come,” she said, as she had said to Hastings. 
“ If — if we reach there in time, I am sure that she 
will see you. But we must hasten.” 

How they hastened was like a dream afterward to 
Norbert. Along the garden paths, across the lawn, 
where Hastings had preceded them, into the house 
and up the broad staircase they sped. It seemed to 
the man as if everything in life, and perhaps in 
death, hung for him on the question, would there be 
time ? He scarcely breathed as he paused at a cham- 
ber door, where Mrs. Lawton entered. 

She did not close it behind her; and through the 
partial opening he saw, as a picture, the scene 
within, of which the principal object was not the 
bed, — this was out of sight, — but an altar-like table, 
bearing lighted candles, a tall crucifix, and some 
vessels of silver and crystal, with Father Thorne in 
surplice and stole kneeling beside it. Norbert 
only dimly understood what this meant, what great 
32 497 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


mysteries of love and pardoning grace had made a 
shrine of the chamber of death, but involuntarily 
he also knelt, and rose to his feet only when Mrs. 
Lawton reappeared and motioned him to enter. 

As he crossed the threshold, his eye fell on that 
which he sought, the bed where Irma lay. It stood 
near a window, with a ray of sunlight, like a golden 
finger, lying across it; while outside a bird poised 
on a flowering bough which almost brushed the case- 
ment. It was only afterward that he was aware of 
having observed, by the fact of remembering, these 
things. Now he seemed to see but one thing, — the 
face he knew and loved so well, with its dark eyes 
full of the old sweet kindness. He did not even 
notice that Hastings was on the other side of the 
bed, and that one of Irma’s hands lay in his clasp, as 
he flung himself on his knees beside her with a 
gasping cry : 

“O Irma! — Irma!” 

Her lips moved, and he bent low to catch the 
barely audible words. 

‘‘ Forgive ” — this was the first — I am sorry I 
was — so unkind. Forgive — my harshness — ” 

“Ah, forgive me!'' he cried. “It is that I have 
come to beg. I meant to serve you, but my own 
selfishness, my own jealousy were at the root of what 
I did. I know that now. It maddened me — to see 
you give yourself to one whom I thought unworthy 
of the gift. And I had loved you so long — so well. 
But why should I talk of that.? You never cared 
for my love, and now it is all in vain — all lost — ” 

The broken, gasping sentences ceased as his head 
went down on the bed beside her. For a minute 
498 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


there was no sound in the room, save the joyous 
notes of the bird beyond the window, and the stifled 
sobs of Margherita. Presently the faint voice 
spoke again : 

‘‘You must not think — I never cared for your 
love. It has been more faithful — than I deserve. 
And I am sorry that it has only made you suffer. 
But no love is lost. It teaches — things we can 
learn by no other means. ” 

Again a pause, a struggle to hold the waning 
strength and breath, and then the dark eyes turned 
toward Hastings. 

Thhigs we can learn by no other means,” the 
weak tones repeated. But they are worth — all 
the pain it costs to learn them. I am sure of that. 
And you must be sure of it, too. Don’t let it all be 
for nothing. Let me feel that I have helped you 
a little — though it ends so soon — ” 

“It is not a little you have helped me, my Irma!” 
he answered passionately. “ If I ever do anything 
in this world high, noble, or unselfish, I shall owe 
the inspiration and the power to you. But if you 
could stay — if you could only stay with me!” 

“It is better not,” she said, with that strange 
resignation and insight which come with the touch 
of death. “ I am not fit for the burden of life. It 
is too heavy — too perplexing. I should only 
blunder — and fail — ” Again she paused, then 
softly added in an accent of ineffable content: 
“ But — something — assures me that when — we 
have meant well, even if we fail — out of our blun- 
ders and our failures light and — peace will come at 
last.” 


m 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 


They came to her almost with those words. The 
head sank back, the lids fell over the dark eyes; 
there was a soft sigh, a little shiver — and, so gently 
they scarcely knew the moment, the spirit slipped 
away. 

No one stirred. Motionless, silent, as if listening 
for the rustling of angels’ wings, they remained, 
until on the solemn hush the priest’s tones arose, 
saying the De Profundis for a departed soul. 










I 


$ 


v- 




lJ ^ 











^ ' 8 ^ ^ . O N f ^ ^ " ''b 

o'" ! 



'-vT^'b s " x\ 









<r 



ir J^^• ^ ^ ^ 

or \-^-0- , 

0 N 0 " * 0 ^ 

v' ^ ^ ,0 



<x> * .“o ^ 

•\^ ^ v> ■ 

ri^ i, ^ 

^ ^ <b ■ 

-0^ < -P ^ 

Cl "> c-sr-^w ^ 



<^0,- .;^ vv 






\° °-<. • 



^■- V. 


'' 'C*'' ^ ^ n ^ 

" ;j « ^ ^ .0 M 0 



A-^' 



,<\ 

C ^V I B 


v> ■" . 

o V y 

0 V| ^ 

' C 0 K- '<5. 

•» ■ ».• 

<l ^ r ty 

^ .0 c? 

\ ^ 

t- o 

^ s \ ^ C<f0> 

’ “ si® \ * 






■* \0‘ 

. 0 N C 





o o' 



A 

> 


c:" 







- 0 " i ‘‘^ ' ^ ^ 

o 0^ ; t ^ : 

!J4 ?3 i!l' j, -y. C\ ^ * 

/• ^ 






-W^l" tl - 

’ V " " ’ ^ ON r; , <<, 

; -oo'‘ : - ^ • 

>* 


s'’ ^ 
*1 ^ 



V V . ^ 



' xvvv:?- \' 

^0^ '^b ' h .,^ 0 ^ 

^ ^ V> 

\V « ; \ 

.\V 




- •V' 


5 




^ < b. ! 


'^/. ' 0 , V '*‘ 

\ * * C>^ . 0 ^ .- 0 


(.r •-<• ^ 

a* >' 

^V' 

'N ^ <■ ^x- ^ i^^v^•^’/\ 


r^.- s- , -k r ' J 

, 0 ' -o 

' -k*^ s • ^ / '^;?- 

v"^' '' ^ -V 

■k'^’ '' 'J 





OF CONGRESS 


library 


0QQ23nHlSl 










